A Love to Lean On
by R. Grace
Summary: Sequel to Love on Any Terms. With Mary's steadfast love and fierce determination as his anchor, Matthew embarks on a long and difficult journey to complete recovery, facing heartache, loss, and other struggles along the way. Rated M for sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_** Hello, again! Before we begin this new journey, I'd like to thank everyone who stuck with me though LOAT and for all the wonderful support. You guys are all amazing. :) **

* * *

_**A Love to Lean On**_

_**Chapter 1**_

_"She was a Phantom of delight_

_When first she gleamed upon my sight;_

_A lovely Apparition, sent_

_To be a moment's ornament;_

_Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;_

_Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair..."_

Mary turned her face into her husband's warm neck as the smooth caress of his voice washed over her. She hooked her leg over his hips and shuffled closer, already missing the sweet press of his firm body against hers as they lay side by side in post-coital bliss. Matthew's fingers traced the long line of her spine hypnotically up and down as he read, his hand slipping easily over her sweat-slicked skin.

"_The reason firm, the temperate will,_

_Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;_

_A perfect Woman, nobly planned,_

_To warn, to comfort, and command;_

_And yet a Spirit still, and bright_

_With something of angelic light."_

"Angelic? Really, Matthew," she protested playfully as she pushed herself up on one elbow, snatching the book from his hand. She tossed it aside, wishing both his hands free to hold her close.

Matthew chuckled, ignoring her comment as he placed his now free hand on her smooth hip. "Mr. Wordsworth's words were meant for a woman such as you."

"As were Mr. Keates', Mr. Shakespeare's, and Lord Byron's," Mary retorted playfully.

"_All _the great poets dreamt of a woman like you, my darling. Strong, beautiful...captivating."

Mary shook her head slightly, still mildly uncomfortable with Matthew's high opinion of her, and silenced him with a firm, but brief, kiss. "Darling, I should probably caution you against placing me on so high a pedestal. I'm afraid it would be an awfully rough landing should I ever fall from it."

"Never," Matthew retorted, pulling her down for another kiss.

The next morning found the couple bidding a fond farewell to the inhabitants of Downton Abbey as their luggage was loaded into the car.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to phone," Robert admonished as he leaned down to kiss his daughter's soft cheek.

"We will. Thank you, Robert," Matthew answered, awkwardly switching his grip on his stick over to his left hand to accept a parting handshake from his father-in-law.

"Best of luck to you, my son. I hope your therapy is successful and you're running and dancing again by the time you return."

"I don't know about running or dancing, but I'm hopeful that I'll at least be able to get rid of this stick."

"But you look so distinguished with your stick," Mary interjected, looping her arm through Matthew's. "Time to go, darling."

After accepting goodbyes and well wishes from the remainder of the family, Mary helped Matthew slide awkwardly into the back seat before climbing in after him. She slipped her hand into his as Branson shut the door behind them and took his seat at the wheel. As they started down the gravel drive, Matthew sighed heavily, turning to smile uncertainly at Mary. He hadn't traveled any further than Crawley House since arriving at Downton at the beginning of his convalescence, and he couldn't shake the worry that nagged at him. If his back gave out before they arrived at Grantham House in London and Mary was forced to seek assistance for him, he'd simply die of mortification. Not to mention, he hated to be a burden on his caring wife.

"I told your mother we'd stop by on our way to the station," Mary spoke cooly, her own countenance betraying no semblance of worry or misgiving whatsoever.

"That was very thoughtful of you, Mary." Matthew's smile turned adoring as he fought back the urge to kiss her then and there, chauffeur be damned.

"Well, Isobel has been nothing but encouraging and supportive since you returned from the front, and I knew you'd want to say goodbye to your mother before being away for so long," Mary explained matter-of-factly, deflecting Matthew's compliment.

"Three whole months," he sighed. "I'm going to miss the family awfully much."

"I know. And poor little Puck will be simply beside himself wondering where you've gone."

Matthew chuckled and squeezed her hand.

"I'll miss him too. But, of course, he's got Isis to keep him company, and Robert. They both adore him and will spoil him excessively, I'm sure."

"Probably so." Mary laughed softly, and her eyes turned to the passing scenery.

Though the air was still a bit chilled, the countryside was beginning to return to life as winter faded away and spring began to show its vibrant green hues. They had passed a lovely Christmastide with the family, celebrating the end of the war and all that they had to be thankful for. The New Year came with a flurry of clean, white snow, bringing with it a thrill of anticipation that touch all the Abbey's inhabitants. With the horror of the war finally behind them and Matthew well on his way to recovery, life seemed to have possibilities again. Hope had returned to Downton Abbey.

After a bit of a debate, Robert and Cora had decided to reinstate the tradition of the Servants' Ball that year, though the recent end of the war demanded it be kept a simple affair. Matthew had seated himself beside his mother to watch as Mary danced with Carson, Thomas, and Moseley, wishing that he was strong enough to dance himself. He sighed as he spotted Daisy standing off to the side, her mourning status preventing her from partaking in the evening's enjoyments. Again, he was forced to fight back feelings of guilt, and even shame, that he was there and William wasn't. Matthew knew that he would, one day, dance with his bride, but his young friend never would. He reminded himself to always remain grateful; his life was so blessed.

Late that night, he'd hummed softly in Mary's ear as he held her close in their bedroom, swaying slightly in place. It was the most he could do, but, for the moment, it had been enough.

Matthew's reminiscences were interrupted when they arrived at Crawley House. Branson stopped the car and jumped out to open the door for them. Mary held on to her husband's arm as they carefully maneuvered the stone pathway to the front door, admonishing him gently to go slowly lest he catch his foot on a stone and trip.

"Mary, I do wish you wouldn't fuss so. I'm not a child."

Mary merely brushed his petulant comment off, continuing to offer her support as he gingerly stepped up into the doorway.

They spent a lovely half-hour taking tea with Isobel, who promptly invited herself to come and stay with them for a few days once they were settled in London, before returning to the car on their way to the train station.

* * *

Matthew eyed the step up to the train car warily, his brow creasing and his palms sweating. Mary squeezed his arm and urged him gently forward. She understood his concern, but was confident in his ability to overcome the obstacles in his path. He'd already overcome so much that, in the grand scheme of it all, a couple of narrow steps should be nothing, yet she could see that he was worried. For all that he was kind, gentle, and honorable man, Matthew certainly had his pride. He hated being seen as a cripple, an invalid. Weak. It embarrassed him to be seen obviously leaning on her for support, and she wished there was another way. Well, she had suggested that they might bring the wheelchair along in case he got tired, but Matthew wouldn't hear of it.

"I'm never getting into that blasted thing again," he'd insisted, prompting an eye-roll from Mary, though she was secretly proud of him. She didn't want to see him back in the chair any more than he did, and she knew that the stares and pitying glances he received as he limped along with his stick would be nothing to what would happen should he venture out in public in a wheelchair.

"Would you like to go first, or should I?" she asked quietly, giving him another gentle nudge. "We shouldn't waste any more time if we want to board early."

Matthew sighed, but took a step forward, then another, until they stood just in front of the first step.

"After you, my dear." Putting on a brave smile, he placed his free hand protectively on the small of her back as she stepped up, little good that it actually did. Once she was up, he gripped the railing in one hand as he placed his stick on the step with the other, carefully stepping up into the car.

"There. That wasn't so terrible, was it?" Mary smiled and took his arm again as they found their seats. Matthew grinned bashfully at her, promptly closing his eyes against the persistent pinch in his lower back the exertion had prompted as they waited for the train to leave the station.

* * *

"Does this place bring back any memories for you?" Mary asked as she poured their tea. The small parlor at Grantham House was comfortably warmed by the afternoon sun, the pale yellow wallpaper and peach upholstery softly glowing in the light. They hadn't been there together since Sybil's coming out ball, and Mary keenly recalled a private moment they'd shared in this very parlor. They hadn't kissed or even touched in any way, yet it had been one of the loveliest moments that had passed between them up until that point.

Seeking solitude from the bustle all the grand preparations, Mary had slipped into what she thought was a deserted room, only to find Matthew quietly hunched over a book, his long forelock flopped down over his forehead and his jacket slung over the back of his chair. He'd been so adorably awkward, but somehow managed to ask her to open the ball with him before they were interrupted by her mother seeking her help with some detail or other. She'd left him blushing and staring dreamily after her, her heart singing with joy that he'd asked her to dance the first waltz of the night with him - something she'd been secretly wishing for.

"Some," Matthew responded coyly, his smile wistful as he recalled that time, so many years past. He'd been so hopeful, but also terrified. As much as he'd thought he loved her then, he now knew that it hadn't been enough. They'd come so far from the boy and girl they were then.

"Perhaps we can make some new ones now." Mary moved closer to him on the sofa, leaning in enough to brush her lips over his jaw, their tea forgotten for the moment. "Having the house all to ourselves is almost like being on a honeymoon."

"Only most people don't have to go to numerous doctor's appointments on their honeymoons."

Mary sighed and rested her cheek on his shoulder, wishing she could pull him out of the grim mood that seemed to have overtaken him as soon as they'd arrived. He was obviously worn out and sore, but she was determined to make the most of their time in London. Matthew could enjoy it too if she could just get him to see the possibilities instead of the obstacles.

"Well, we have all day tomorrow free to do as we please. What would you like to do?"

"You know I'd love, more than anything, to show you a good time out on the town," Matthew responded, a hard edge creeping into his voice as he pondered his frustrating situation. "Take you to the theatre, out to dinner...dancing...But you know that I can't."

Matthew knew he was being unnecessarily gruff, and the persistent ache in his back and legs certainly didn't help his mood. He was exhausted, stiff, and sore, but his wife was leaning into him, one little hand stroking over the fabric of his waistcoat, obviously feeling amorous with her talk of imaginary honeymoons.

"I know you're in pain, darling," Mary whispered softly against his shoulder before sitting up to reach for his tea cup. She carefully placed it in his hands, knowing he wouldn't be able to lean forward to get it himself with his back bothering him. He smiled appreciatively up at her and lifted the cup to his lips. She'd flavored his tea with cream and hint of lemon, just as he preferred.

Mary rose and made her way over to the door, turning with her hand on the knob to address Matthew in the strong, authoritative tone he had come to admire.

"I'll just go and see if a first floor bedroom can be arranged for us, dear. I had thought a suite on the second floor would be alright now, but I wouldn't want you to strain yourself after the exertion of the trip. I'm sure something can be worked out."

"I hate for you to go through such trouble for me," Matthew protested weakly, his brow creasing with concern and displeasure with himself for being such a burden to her. "I'm sure I'll manage somehow."

"Matthew," Mary responded softly, her brow arching in a gentle reproach, "I can clearly see you're stiff as a board. I don't mind, you know."

"I know." His voice was little more than a whisper, but its deep tones caressed Mary's ears, making her smile widen. "Come here," Matthew spoke with a bit more volume, holding out a hand in her direction. Mary strode slowly towards him, taking his teacup and placing it back on the tray before allowing him to pull her down beside him again. His arms went around her waist, and his mouth covered hers, forcing her lips open, drinking her in.

"You're an incredible woman, Mary Crawley. I do love you, so terribly much."

"I know you do," Mary teased gently, reaching up for a final, soft kiss before rising again.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: I'd just like to say a quick thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter! Your feedback and encouragement means more than you know. :)**_

_**Also, enormous thanks goes to Willa Dedalus for being a wonderful support and sounding board for all my ideas. Thank you!**_

_Last Time:_

_"I'll just go and see if a first floor bedroom can be arranged for us, dear. I had thought a suite on the second floor would be alright now, but I wouldn't want you to strain yourself after the exertion of the trip. I'm sure something can be worked out."_

_"I hate for you to go through such trouble for me," Matthew protested weakly, his brow creasing with concern and displeasure with himself for being such a burden to her. "I'm sure I'll manage somehow."_

_"Matthew," Mary responded softly, her brow arching in a gentle reproach, "I can clearly see you're stiff as a board. I don't mind, you know."_

_"I know." His voice was little more than a whisper, but its deep tones caressed Mary's ears, making her smile widen. "Come here," Matthew spoke with a bit more volume, holding out a hand in her direction. Mary strode slowly towards him, taking his teacup and placing it back on the tray before allowing him to pull her down beside him again. His arms went around her waist, and his mouth covered hers, forcing her lips open, drinking her in._

_"You're an incredible woman, Mary Crawley. I do love you, so terribly much."_

_"I know you do," Mary teased gently, reaching up for a final, soft kiss before rising again._

* * *

_Chapter 2_

It was just over an hour later that Mary made her way back to the little parlor where she'd left Matthew with a book and a plate of lemon biscuits to attend to arrangements for a first floor bedroom for them. A smug little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she imagined Matthew's reaction to what she'd done. She was rather pleased with the arrangement herself.

When she reached the parlor, she gently pushed open the door and was greeted with the sound of a soft snore. Matthew had fallen asleep with his chin resting on his chest, his open book still in his hand. The trip had truly exhausted him, Mary realized with a sharp pang of remorse that she hadn't foreseen the possible problem with the bedroom situation earlier. Matthew had improved greatly in the past month, but his body was still healing.

Approaching slowly so as not to startle him, she spoke his name softly, then with increased volume when he stirred but didn't fully waken. At last, he blinked and straightened up, immediately reaching with one hand to rub the back of his neck. He grinned sheepishly up at Mary, prompting an answering fond smile of her own.

"Have you got it all sorted?" he asked, still blinking away the affects of his impromptu nap.

"As a matter of fact, I have," Mary answered proudly. "And, now that we have a bed, perhaps we should get you into it."

"That does sound rather lovely." Matthew reached for his stick and braced himself to rise. As there was no one there to see, Mary didn't hesitate to offer her assistance, taking a hold of his arm and pulling carefully as he slowly rose to his feet with a groan.

She kept her arm looped through his as they made their way out into the grand hallway, making slow, careful progress towards the east wing of the large house. Matthew's expression grew more and more skeptical as they went on, as Mary's grew ever more smug.

"I hadn't thought there would be any bedrooms in this part of the house," he mused aloud.

"There aren't, technically," Mary answered. "Actually, there aren't any downstairs bedrooms at all. I've had to be a bit...creative."

"Intriguing," Matthew responded, his eyes fixed on the large double doors at the end of the corridor. "Mary, are you taking me where I think you're taking me?"

"I don't know," she said coyly. "But we're almost there, darling. Just a few more steps."

Matthew shook his head in complete disbelief as Mary threw open the double doors to reveal their grand new bedroom.

"The ballroom," he breathed in amazement as he surveyed their elegant surroundings. "Mary Crawley, you never cease to astound me. Would one of the drawing rooms not have sufficed?"

"But, darling, we might need to use the drawing rooms. The ballroom is the only downstairs room that sits completely useless for most of the year. I thought it a perfect solution."

Mary was, indeed, proud of what she saw as a stroke of genius on her part. She'd had a couple of the footmen bring down the furniture from one of the bedrooms, situating things fairly close to the doors so that Matthew wouldn't have too far to walk. The large canopy bed was massive enough not to get lost in the high-ceilinged room, and she'd had a little seating area, complete with a table big enough for two to dine intimately, arranged in front of the grand fireplace. Two large wardrobes containing their clothing were placed opposite the bed, between the tall floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded the room with the light of the afternoon sun. In one corner, there were several changing screens sectioning off a portion of the room. She drew Matthew's attention to these, explaining that this area would serve as their makeshift washroom.

"There's a toilet just a few doors down that we can use, but I've had a copper bathtub and wash basin brought in here. They'll have to be filled the old-fashioned way, I'm afraid, but we'll manage."

"I dare say we will," Matthew stated simply, amused by her obvious pride in her creative solution. "It's a bedroom fit for a king."

"Only the best for my husband," Mary teased back, sliding her hands under his lapels as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. She hadn't necessarily intended it as a seductive gesture, but Matthew took it as such. His short nap had boosted his energy level enough for him to contemplate other uses for the massive bed besides simple rest.

Several minutes later, Mary propped her chin up on his chest to look down at him where he lay under her, their legs deliciously intertwined beneath the silk sheets.

"Well, did my hair survive?" she asked cheekily.

"Almost," Matthew answered as he tucked one escaped tendril behind her ear.

Mary smiled affectionately at him before leaning down to indulge in a few lazy kisses as she waited for strength to return to her legs.

"Now this feels like a honeymoon," Matthew whispered against her lips, his hands, which had wandered under the hem of her chemise to lightly stroke her bare bottom, rapidly bringing on a return of her earlier need.

Though he felt as though he could close his eyes and be asleep in a matter of moments, Matthew couldn't help but wish to thoroughly satisfy his wife. Gently, he nudged her upwards, directing her with a firm grip of her hips to place one knee on either side of his head, bringing her in reach of his fingers and tongue.

Mary gripped the headboard in anticipation, the aftershocks of her former pleasure still coursing through her, making the pressure of his lips and tongue on her most sensitive spot almost unbearable. She bit her lip and held on as long as she could, knowing that the moment she looked down to see his blond head between her thighs, she'd come completely undone. And the knowledge that they were doing..._this_ in the same room in which they'd danced too close together all those years ago...It was almost too much. The need for release warred with her desire to prolong the moment, to savor each second of his intimate touch and the knowledge of _where_ they were. It felt deliciously naughty and forbidden, as if their former selves where watching from just beyond the bed where they had once danced together, passion simmering between them as if they had somehow known how wonderful it would be - what they would one day share.

At last, she collapsed quivering in his arms. Propping herself up on her elbow, she traced his glistening lips with her fingertips before leaning down to brush her mouth lightly over his. She didn't fail to take notice of the way his fine lashes parted only half way as she pulled back.

"I should let you sleep," she observed, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

"You mean I haven't worn you our sufficiently to induce you to nap with me?" Matthew whined playfully. "I see I'll have to redouble my efforts."

"Really, darling, I should get up," Mary chastised gently, swatting his hands away. "I promised Aunt Rosimund I'd walk down and visit after we were settled."

At this, Matthew reluctantly released her, resigning himself to remaining in the big, empty, unfamiliar bed alone for the time being, though he was sure he'd rest much more contentedly with her in his arms. He tugged his underpants back up and watched as Mary briefly disappeared behind the screens into their little makeshift washroom before pulling on her discarded knickers and slipping into her dress. She leaned over to allow him to assist her with the side zip, and he took advantage of the opportunity to tug her down for one last kiss before looking on lovingly as she checked her appearance in the mirror and left the room.

* * *

St. Thomas' Hospital reminded Matthew so much of his father, he almost expected to see him around every corner and in every long hallway. The thought was strangely comforting, much in the way his father's old notes in the margins of his physiotherapy text had been.

Matthew wondered, if his father could see him now, would he be proud of him: of his son, the invalid, who desperately wanted his life back - to be able to continue in his chosen career; to be the husband and (God willing) father that had been modeled for him by his own? He hoped so. _God_, he hoped so, and it was this hope that drove him to grit his teeth and bear up under the pain that each movement and palpation caused, forcing himself to do one more repetition - to hold on for one more breath - until he was finally released into his wife's care.

"So, how did it go?" Mary asked, her smile determinately bright as she immediately noticed Matthew's grimace.

"Well, I suppose," he answered through gritted teeth.

Sensing his need to focus on his careful steps for the moment, Mary took his arm and held her curiosity until they were seated in the car.

"It was kind of your aunt to let us use her car and chauffeur," Matthew observed as he shifted uncomfortably in the leather seat. It was impossible sit in any position that didn't cause discomfort, and he hoped Mary would understand and simply make inane small talk with him until they reached the house. He needed the distraction.

"She asked me to bring you 'round for dinner, but I can see I'll have to send your regrets. The only place you're going is straight to bed."

Matthew sighed and directed his gaze at the passing scenery, realizing that being allowed to suffer in silence was the best he could hope for.

"How did your therapy go? Did the doctor say anything?"

Matthew huffed impatiently, his endurance rapidly reaching its limit as they went over a small bump in the road and his back pinched painfully.

"It went fine. The doctor said the first days are always hard as range of motion is regained and long-disused muscles are worked."

Her mouth opened to speak, but he quickly interrupted her, his patience at its breaking point.

"Yes, I'm in a great deal of pain. Yes, that's normal. No, I don't want to talk about it any more. Would you, for God's sake, please just leave me alone."

He closed his eyes, covering them with his hand as he mentally berated himself for his outburst. Mary didn't deserve his tempter, but he was just so bloody tired and uncomfortable. To top it all off, a pounding headache was immanent. He could feel the pressure mounting behind his temples. His pulse pounded against his skull and the sunlight was becoming increasingly unbearable.

He glanced over at Mary to see her looking at him with an expression of mixed reproach and pity, as if she couldn't decide whether to rebuff him or embrace him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered weakly before closing his eyes again, trying his best to ignore the pain that only seemed to grow with the effort.

When they arrived back at Grantham House, Matthew was tremendously grateful that Moseley had accompanied them to London. It was easier not to feel he had to be strong in front of some unknown servant who might speak of his weakness to others. Moseley gently and efficiently helped him undress and slide carefully into bed, saying only, "slowly, sir. That's the way." Mary hadn't accompanied him to their grand bedroom after they arrived. He supposed he'd angered her with his harsh words, so it was undoubtedly no more than he deserved. But, oh, how he longed for her soothing touch.

"Thank you, Moseley. You may go."

His eyes flew open at the sound of her voice, so blessedly welcome despite the throbbing behind his ears. She still didn't look completely thrilled with him, but her brow wrinkled with concern as she approached the side of the bed, a glass of amber-colored liquid cradled in her hands. He spoke her name, but she shushed him, leaning over him to gently lift his head enough to encourage him to drink. It was a strong concoction of brandy and something else he couldn't name. Her hand felt pleasantly cool where it pressed against his forehead as a blessed lethargy descended.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! _


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

Matthew's first difficult therapy session would turn into days, and eventually weeks, of mornings spent at the hospital and afternoons lying flat on his back in bed. The evenings varied. Sometimes he was able to rise and join Mary in the parlor or dining room for a couple of hours. Other times, he was forced to content himself with a book and tray in bed, though Mary was kind enough to keep him company on the majority of these occasions.

His doctor had encouraged him to bear up despite the hardship, keeping in mind that the pain and exhaustion wouldn't last forever. Eventually, his back would fully heal and his muscles would strengthen, but this was only a small consolation when he lay awake at night, desperately tired but unable to rest or find a comfortable position.

On one such night, he suddenly realized that it had been a fortnight complete since he'd last made love to his wife. Constant pain and lack of proper rest had robbed him of the amorousness that had characterized the first stage of his recovery, and he couldn't help but feel guilty that he hadn't even thought to see to Mary's needs, despite the temporary repression of his own.

He turned his head to look at her as she slept peacefully beside him, her long, ebony braid draped gracefully over the curve of her slender neck, and sighed. He missed her warmth against him, as she had seemingly given up her preferred resting place draped over his chest. Of course, he couldn't blame her. He hadn't been the most approachable of husbands in the past weeks, though she hadn't expressed any discontent. He wondered, if she had, would he even have noticed? She deserved more, and he missed the physical closeness that had always been a comfort to him, even in his darkest moments.

With a groan, he reached for her, wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her to him. In being gruff with her, he'd cut off his nose to spite his face. If he was going to lie awake in the dark for most of the night, he might as well enjoy holding her close while he did.

Mary whimpered plaintively at the disturbance, but didn't fully awaken. She nestled instinctively into the curve of Matthew's shoulder, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the familiar touch brought him a measure of much-needed peace. Wrapping his arms securely around her, he pressed a kiss to her fragrant hair before closing his eyes to enjoy the sweet tickling of her breath against his neck, the press of her soft breasts into his side, the weight of her thigh covering his. After a few moments, the warmth of her body dulled the pain in his back, and he relaxed, soon joining her in sleep.

* * *

Matthew awoke to the aroma of coffee and freshly baked scones. His eyes fluttered open as the china on the tray clanked together as Mary placed it on the table beside him.

"Good morning," her soft voice greeted him. "Any longer and it'd be 'good afternoon.'"

He groaned and stretched carefully, smiling sleepily up at her. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he was able to see that the sun was, indeed, pouring in through the open curtains at a much different angle than he was used to seeing upon awakening. The bed dipped slightly beside him as Mary sat down, her cool fingers smoothing his hair.

"I hate to wake you before you're ready, now that you're finally able to get some sleep. I know you need it." She paused to adjust the covers around his middle as he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. Even during the three days each week on which he didn't have therapy, he hadn't been able to sleep past daybreak, so Mary was pleasantly surprised to see that this morning had been an exception. It was a shame to wake him, but she had a surprise to share. "I'm afraid we have company coming over for tea in a couple of hours, so you'll have to make yourself presentable."

"Oh?" Matthew raised an eyebrow at her as she situated the tray over his lap. They hadn't had any visitors since they'd been in London. "May I ask who?"

"Oh, nobody special," Mary replied flippantly. "I sent a note to Lavinia a few days ago asking her to bring her fiance around some time, and she telephoned this morning. Apparently they have news they want to share in person."

Matthew looked up from stirring his coffee to find Mary grinning playfully at him. She was teasing him. He smiled back and turned his attention to his breakfast, refusing to take her bait.

"Well, that's wonderful, darling. Thank you for writing her. I'm ashamed to say, I haven't given it the slightest thought since we arrived."

"I'll ask for your bath to be drawn now so it'll be ready once you've eaten," Mary spoke, brushing off his silly thanks. Matthew always seemed to forget that Lavinia was her friend too.

It was quite some time, owing to the necessarily careful pace of Matthew's morning ablutions, before he was seated - dressed, coiffed, and shaved - beside Mary in the front parlor, waiting to receive their guests. He rose shakily as Lavinia and Dr. Whitman where announced, happy despite his discomfort as her smiling face came into view.

"Mary! Matthew! Oh, how thrilled I am to see you both!"

Mary smiled broadly at Lavinia's exclamation, stepping forward to greet the younger woman with an affectionate hug.

"Hello, Lavinia. It's so lovely to see you. I'm glad you could come, and," Mary turned and gestured to Matthew's still figure behind her, "I know Matthew is as well."

Matthew made a mental note to shower his wife with affection once they were alone for being so undeservedly wonderful to him. That she showed no hint of jealously towards his former fiance was astounding, as he wasn't at all sure he could be as gracious under similar circumstances. His bride was a true lady, in every respect.

"You're looking well, Lavinia," he greeted her, taking her hand in his own. He wished he were strong enough to bend and place a kiss on his friend's blushing cheek, but it was all he could do to remove one hand from his stick to hold hers.

"You look much improved yourself," Lavinia gushed, standing slightly back to look him over, erasing the sad images of Matthew in a hospital bed, then in a wheelchair. "Oh, Matthew, I'm so very, very happy for you." She rose on tip-toe to place a soft kiss on his cheek, giving him the opportunity to kiss hers in return. Lavinia stepped away, wiping an escaped tear from her cheek, as a throat cleared behind them.

"Should I be jealous?" her fiance asked teasingly, his warm smile allaying Matthew's worries about offending Lavinia's intended.

"Of course not, my dear," Lavinia laughed as she made her way back to his side, wrapping both her hands around his arm and placing a firm kiss on his cheek. "Matthew, Mary, I'd like you to meet my fiance, Dr. Benjamin Whitman."

The young doctor stepped forward to shake Matthew's hand, his trained eyes taking in his new acquaintance's awkward stance and slight pallor before bowing over Mary's hand. "Lady Mary, Mr. Crawley, it's a pleasure. Lavinia has spoken very fondly of you both. I'm delighted to finally meet such paragons."

"Oh, Ben, you do tease me so," Lavinia sighed, blushing prettily.

"Please, do be seated," Mary offered solicitously, claiming her place beside Matthew on the settee as Lavinia and Ben sat in the chairs opposite.

As if on cue, the parlor doors opened admitting a footman with the tea tray. Mary thanked and dismissed him before pouring for everyone, and the very pleasant visit began in earnest. Lavinia insisted on knowing all there was to tell about the status of Matthew's recovery, which he smilingly explained for her as Ben listened with a look of concern that struck a cord with Mary. She liked the young man already. He wasn't what one might call handsome, but he had a pleasant face and intelligent hazel eyes. His slight build seemed more suited to Lavinia's own petite stature than Matthew's tall frame had been. No longer was she the delicate shrinking violet Mary had first seen entering Downton's great hall beside Matthew. Sitting beside her beloved doctor, she shown as the gem she was, appearing more lovely than Mary had ever noticed. Things had certainly worked out for the best.

After several minutes, Lavinia placed her tea cup back on the tray and cleared her throat, gaining the undivided attention of the room.

"Unfortunately, we'll have to be going soon, so I suppose I should share our good news now," she spoke, reaching for Ben's hand.

"Yes, you mentioned on the telephone that you had something to tell us," Mary responded, setting aside her own cup to give her friend her full attention.

"Well," Lavinia began, glancing conspiratorially at Ben before meeting Mary and Matthew's curious stares, "remember I told you last autumn that we were to be married in the summer?"

Both Mary and Matthew nodded their heads in assent.

"There's been a change of plans. We're to be married...in two weeks time, on the 12th of March."

Congratulations were expressed warmly before Lavinia's expression suddenly turned somber, causing a small break in the joyous atmosphere.

"I know you're both probably wondering about the sudden change," she spoke softly, picking nervously at the fabric of her skirt. "You see, my father's health hasn't been good, and I'm worried...I'm..."

"What my fiance means to say is that her father's health is stable now, but I'm concerned that he may take a turn when the summer heat rolls in. We'd prefer to be able to honeymoon now so we won't have to worry about leaving him alone under precarious circumstances."

Lavinia smiled appreciatively at her betrothed, her eyes still showing hints of sadness despite her obvious joy.

"Thank you, dearest. You've been so good to my dear father."

"Perhaps," Ben teased. "I might have only told you that so I could rush you to the altar."

Lavinia giggled prettily at Ben's comment, prompting the rest of the party to follow in her levity, and the remainder of the visit was spent discussing the couple's honeymoon plans. When at last Lavinia and Ben stood to take their leave, Mary extracted a solemn promise from both to join them for dinner in the coming week, which they heartily agreed to.

"I like Dr. Whitman," Mary observed once left alone with her husband. "He seems a very good match for Lavinia."

"Indeed, he does," Matthew agreed, nodding enthusiastically. "She clearly adores him, as he does her."

"And does my husband clearly adore me as I do him?" Mary pouted flirtatiously at him, the sparkle in her eyes hiding the tiny, almost imperceptible insecurity behind her playful words. It was only because he knew her so well that Matthew was able to see it. He also knew that even Mary herself would think her jealousy silly and would never dare admit to it outright. It was one of things he loved about her.

"Madly," he answered, giving her a sidelong glance before picking up a book he'd left on the table. He could feel her gaze on him as he pretended to read, trying to hold back the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

When he saw her stand and move towards the door, he was almost disappointed that she hadn't taken his bait, but, instead of the creak of the hinges, the clank of the lock was heard. His smile grew wider, but he continued with his eyes firmly fixed on the blur of black font in front of him. He felt her approach more than saw it. She stopped once she'd entered his peripheral vision, and he felt his mouth go dry as she darlingly lifted her skirt just enough to shimmy her knickers off, stepping out of them primly before standing still, seemingly waiting for his reaction. Matthew wet his lips as his body suddenly recalled just how long it had been...and how desperately he desired her.

Satisfied with his unconscious reaction to her bold move, Mary removed the book from his hands and set it back on the table before placing herself gracefully in his lap. From then on out, there was nothing but a blur of heated kisses and searching hands grasping at fabric and buttons and the subtle creak of the furniture as they sifted together, sighing in unison as their goal was at last achieved. Mary rocked slowly over him at first, gradually gaining speed as her need for him increased almost painfully. His hands eased under her skirt, urging her on until she was forced to clap her hand firmly over his mouth as he cried out his release. Her head lolled back on her shoulders, her mouth open in a silent gasp as she let the lovely sensations wash over her until, after some minutes spent recovering in her husband's arms, she found the strength in her legs to stand.

* * *

"It's a fine morning," Matthew observed as they stepped out of the car at the hospital entrance. "Perhaps, if I'm not too worn out, we can spend some time in the garden when we return to the house."

"That would be lovely," Mary answered absently, relieved to see that Matthew was in a world of his own this morning. He hadn't noted her preoccupation. She looped her arm casually through his as they made their way inside.

"I'll see you in an hour," he breathed against her ear as her hand slipped from his arm, and he followed the nurse out of the waiting room and down the hallway to the room where his therapy would take place.

Mary watched, her fingers clutching anxiously at the handle of her purse, as he disappeared around the corner. Rather than making herself comfortable in one of the provided chairs for the next hour, she turned and made her way down the opposite hallway towards another ward of the hospital. She had an appointment of her own to keep.

* * *

_Sorry (not!) about the cliffy! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, even though it's a couple days late. I never intended for there to be smut in this installment, but it just kinda happened. Hopefully I redeemed myself at least a little. :)_

_As always, giant thanks to everyone who read and reviewed as well as to Willa Dedalus for being an amazing support. If you have a moment, I'd love to know your thoughts! _


	4. Chapter 4

_**Last time:**_

_"It's a fine morning," Matthew observed as they stepped out of the car at the hospital entrance. "Perhaps, if I'm not too worn out, we can spend some time in the garden when we return to the house."_

_"That would be lovely," Mary answered absently, relieved to see that Matthew was in a world of his own this morning. He hadn't noted her preoccupation. She looped her arm casually through his as they made their way inside._

_"I'll see you in an hour," he breathed against her ear as her hand slipped from his arm, and he followed the nurse out of the waiting room and down the hallway to the room where his therapy would take place._

_Mary watched, her fingers clutching anxiously at the handle of her purse, as he disappeared around the corner. Rather than making herself comfortable in one of the provided chairs for the next hour, she turned and made her way down the opposite hallway towards another ward of the hospital. She had an appointment of her own to keep_.

* * *

_Chapter 4_

The next morning, Mary and Matthew broke their fast together at the small table before the fireplace in their grand bedroom. Mary was unusually quiet, Matthew noticed as he buttered his toast. She seemed preoccupied - had been, actually, since after his therapy the previous day, now that he thought about it. He'd been tired and irritable as always and had failed to notice. But, looking back, he recalled the way she silently sat by his side as they'd spent a few quiet minutes on the stone bench in the garden before going in. He'd slept through dinner, and, when she'd joined him in bed, she'd only wished him goodnight before turning over, thought he could tell by her breathing that it was some time before she slept.

Again, he sighed to think of how different things were now, and they were technically still newlyweds, even if one counted the months before his recovery. Even when he was unable to love her fully, she'd always gone straight into his arms for passionate kisses and caresses. But now...He looked down at the napkin in his lap and bit back another sigh. The passion was already fading from their marriage, and it was entirely his fault. He wasn't trying hard enough. Mary deserved more.

A knock on the door broke the silence of the room.

"Enter," Mary called. The doors opened, revealing the butler.

"Telephone for you, Lady Mary."

"Thank you, Phillips. I'll be right there." Mary's voice wavered a little as she stood gracefully, but quickly, placing her napkin in her seat before walking with deliberately measured step from the room.

Several minute later, she returned, her expression unreadable. Matthew studied her curiously, noting the studied calmness with which she carried herself. Something was clearly on her mind. He wondered if it was the same situation that occupied his thoughts, and his heart fluttered nervously in his chest.

"Who was that?" he asked tentatively, putting down his fork as his appetite suddenly deserted him.

"That? Oh...just the hospital. I took care of it. You needn't worry," Mary answered hastily, clearly having hoped that he wouldn't ask. She gave him a little forced smile he knew was only an attempt to placate him - to stop him asking any more questions. Acceding to her silent request, he only nodded and rose, pausing to place a soft kiss on her hair before limping to the bell pull to summon Moseley.

* * *

The next few days proved even more challenging for Matthew as his doctor had, after praising his progress, changed his therapy regimen to a more rigorous one, leaving him even more tired and sore at the end of each session than before. After the second more difficult session, he'd been proud to demonstrate some of his progress for Mary one evening as she'd slipped into bed beside him. Though her response had been warm and obviously pleased, he could tell her attention wasn't fully engaged, and he couldn't help but feel irrationally jealous of...whatever it was that had his wife so distracted. As she'd brushed her lips all too briefly over his, he'd thought he would get up and turn a summersault if it might earn him her full attention. She had been so distant for the past few days, and it worried him. Not to mention, he'd begun to feel lonely for her, even as she rested by his side.

The feeling was much the same when riding next to her in the back seat of the car after his therapy session the next morning. She was quiet, pensive, with a little wrinkle appearing now and then between her dark brows. He leaned heavily on her arm as they made their way around the side of the house to the servants' door where there was only one step, rather than five daunting ones, for him to contend with. Phillips greeted them with his usual somber mien, and Matthew handed his stick to Mary while he allowed the butler to help him out of his coat.

"Lady Mary, sir, a visitor arrived while you were out. She's waiting in the parlor," Phillips explained cooly. Mary's eyes immediately lit up at the news.

"Thank you, Phillips," she dismissed the butler before taking Matthew's arm, gently propelling him forward.

Matthew groaned as his back pinched with every step and his thighs burned. "Darling, do you think you could make my excuses to our guest? I'm really not up for a visit just now."

"Trust me, Matthew, you'll want to at least greet this visitor before heading off to bed," Mary answered enigmatically as she steered him towards the parlor. Matthew went without further complaint, and was soon rewarded with a bright smile from his own dear mother once they'd reached their destination.

"Mother, what a surprise!" he exclaimed as he accepted a warm kiss on the cheek.

"A welcome one, I hope," Isobel responded, her eyes roaming appraisingly over her son's half-stooped posture. "Mary telephoned yesterday inviting me to come for a visit. I saw no reason to delay, so I caught the early train this morning."

Matthew only smiled at Isobel, though the pleasant expression was soon replaced by a pained grimace as his aching back again reasserted itself. At the insistence of both his wife and his mother, though he was hardly of a mind to argue, Matthew consented to going straight to bed with the assurance that his mother would still be there when he was up for a visit.

After seeing Matthew delivered safely into Moseley's dedicated care, Mary returned to the parlor and ordered tea for herself and her mother-in-law. Once alone with delicate china cups cradled in their hands, the two women were able to speak freely.

"So," Isobel began, "how are you feeling today, my dear?"

"Alright," Mary answered, drawing in a deep breath. "A little nervous, perhaps."

"Well that's only natural," the older woman spoke comfortingly, smiling gently at Mary as she sipped her tea. "I take it you still haven't told Matthew."

Mary shook her head. "I don't know how to. He's been so exhausted and stressed lately, I just..."

"I understand," Isobel cut in, seeing Mary struggle to find the words. "I'm honored that you confided in me, my dear. Have you spoken with your own mother yet?"

"Not yet," Mary answered. "I wanted to confide in another woman, but I'm not ready to speak of it with anyone else just now. Besides, I knew your visit would brighten Matthew's days. I dare say he needs it."

With that, the conversation shifted to focus on Matthew and his progress and away from the matter that had occupied Mary's mind for the past few days.

Late that evening, Matthew rallied himself enough to join his wife and mother for dinner. Afterwards, he joined them briefly in the drawing room as Isobel filled them in on the latest news from home.

"Isobel, I hope you don't mind, but my Aunt Rosamund has invited Matthew and I dinner tomorrow evening," Mary spoke as the night drew to a close. "I'm sure you'd be welcome as well."

Isobel's pleasant thanks was cut short by Matthew's irritated groan. "The dinner!" he grumbled. "I'd forgotten all about it. Must I go? Perhaps the two of you..."

"Darling, surely you can bear up for this one evening," Mary interrupted him. "You've been here for a full month and have yet to accept any of Aunt Rosamund's invitations. I'm afraid she's beginning to feel snubbed."

"Well, can't she understand why?" Matthew shot back, though he'd already accepted his inevitable defeat. He was too tired to argue with Mary, especially if his mother should take her side.

* * *

The next evening found Matthew wearily allowing Moseley to help him into his formal dinner attire, which had hung untouched in the wardrobe since their arrival in London. He leaned heavily back in his chair as his shoes were tied, wondering where he was going to find the energy to rise. Just as Moseley finished with the second shoe, Mary emerged from behind the screens, dismissing the surprised valet with her signature regal elegance that never failed to bring a fond smile to Matthew's face. She was absolutely stunning in a gown of gauzy scarlet silk that draped in elegant layers around her trim figure, floating softly about her shapely legs as she walked towards him.

"You look lovely, darling. Is this new?" he asked, reaching out to catch the smooth fabric of her skirt between his fingertips.

"Do you like it?" Mary responded, stepping even closer to frame his face between her gloved hands.

"It suits you beautifully," Matthew answered, his hands landing on the gentle curve of her hips, tugging her towards him. Mary smiled down at him before gracefully seating herself on his knee. Her weight on his sore muscles was painful, but Matthew held her in an iron grip, refusing to allow her to leave his embrace. He needed it too desperately.

Her fingertips moved unnecessarily over his combed hair, making sure each strand was in place. The soft, caring touch reminded Matthew of the time he'd insisted he comb his own hair, having grown weary of her hovering about him as if he were a child in need of constant care and supervision. He chuckled softly at his own foolishness, the past few days having made him hungry for any small nugget of her attention when it had once been bestowed so freely.

"What?" Mary asked, noting his retreat into his thoughts.

"Nothing," he answered wistfully before pulling her close, his hand cupping the back of her neck as he brought her mouth down to his.

Mary gasped against his lips, feeling the desperation behind his kiss. His other hand moved over her thigh, bunching the delicate fabric of her skirt under his questing fingers. After indulging for one final moment, she pulled away, stifling a laugh at his deprived expression, like a child denied a treat.

"Later darling," she purred, lightly kissing the pout from his lips. "We'll be late, and you're making me untidy."

She shot him a chastening look as she brushed his hands away before rising, smoothing her skirt and patting her hair. Matthew watched as she inspected her reflection in the full-length mirror, his eyes drinking in the bared skin of her back framed so enticingly by the low drape of the fabric cascading from her creamy shoulders. _Later_, she'd said. No matter how beautiful and tempting she was, Matthew knew it was unlikely, that he would have to disappoint her. It seemed he could do little else these days.

With a groan, he reached for his stick and stood.

"Don't move," he rasped as Mary started to turn. She watched his slow progress in the glass as he moved with painstaking care to stand just behind her. His warm fingertips came to rest on her upper back, making her shiver at the deliciously sensual touch.

"Will there be other gentlemen at this dinner?" he asked cheekily, meeting Mary's amused gaze in the mirror.

"Probably," Mary answered. "Aunt Rosamund always seems to have at least one single gentleman loitering about her house. She keeps a ready supply of cigars, you know, but she doesn't smoke."

Matthew chuckled at the implication and bent his head to place a soft kiss on the side of her neck.

"You're so beautiful tonight, I fear I shall have to beat them off with my stick."

Mary rolled her eyes at his comment, earning another chuckle, before moving out of his reach to collect her handbag.

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Next time, dinner at Aunt Rosamund's brings an unexpected encounter, and Mary's secret is finally shared. _

_I want to give a huge thank-you to Willa Dedalus for all the help and unwavering support, as well as to all who reviewed the last chapter. You guys are amazing, and your support means more than you know. :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N:_**_ Sorry about the wait, guys! Here's an extra long chapter for you! Huge, huge, huge thanks, as always, to all those who reviewed the last chapter and to Willa Dedalus for being an amazing support. _

_You may want to keep in mind as you read this that this is LOATverse, not canon. I know that sounds cryptic, but I don't want to give anything away. Just remember that some things as far as backstory goes are a little different than in canon. _

_Just to recap, at the end of chapter 4, they were getting ready to leave for dinner at Aunt R's. In case you forgot. :)_

* * *

_Chapter 5_

"Lady Mary Crawley, Mr. Matthew Crawley, and Mrs. Isobel Crawley, my lady."

Matthew tried his best to smile warmly at Lady Rosamund as she made her way across the opulently decorated drawing room to greet them after they were announced, but worried that it might actually look more like a grimace. He tried not to lean too heavily on Mary's arm as she greeted and kissed her aunt. Bowing was absolutely out of the question, so he simply dipped his head in Rosumund's direction, hoping she would understand.

"Cousin Matthew," Rosamund greeted him with considerably less warmth than she'd offered Mary. "I'm so pleased you finally decided to grace us with your presence. I was beginning to worry that you were a figment of Mary's imagination."

"Lady Rosamund, I..."

"And Mrs. Crawley, welcome," Rosamund interrupted him, turning her attention abruptly to Isobel.

"Lady Rosamund, thank you so much for having me," Isobel answered with a polite smile, casting a sideways glance up at Matthew's sudden frown.

"Mary, I'm just dying to introduce you to my friends." Rosumund turned and gestured to the three fashionably dressed people already in the drawing room: two women in beaded gowns seated on the settee and an older gentleman standing behind them. "May I introduce Lord and Lady Bromley and Lady Bromley's sister, Miss Amelia Rochester."

"So this is the famous Mary you're always telling me about, Ros," the middle-aged woman spoke up, her beady eyes appraising Mary from head to toe, but studiously avoiding her crippled husband. After all, she wouldn't want to appear rude. "I look forward to knowing you better, my dear."

Mary nodded her acknowledgement of Lady Bromley's sentiments before turning again to Rosamund. "Are we waiting on anyone else, or is it time to go through? Matthew needs to sit."

"Mary, I'm fi..."

"We're waiting on one more," Rosamund answered, cutting Matthew off again. "A bachelor to round out the party," she announced with obvious relish.

Though his entire being burned with mortification at the awkward situation he'd been placed in, Matthew met Mary's coyly raised eyebrow with a slight grin. "Just as you predicted," he whispered to her as they seated themselves on the sofa.

Conversation was awkward and stilted as Rosamund's guests questioned Mary about her family and about her stay in London, which, of course, necessitated a mention of Matthew's therapy appointments, leading to further awkwardness. Isobel complimented Lady Bromley and Miss Rochester on their gowns, which sparked a lively recitation on the latest fashions and the merits of the various dress shops in town. Matthew thought the ladies seemed inordinately delighted to find a neutral topic of conversation to fill the time until dinner. He got the distinct impression that there was an elephant in the room that everyone was painfully aware of but nobody wanted to acknowledge, and he was almost certain that it was him.

The entire party breathed a collective sigh of relief as the door swung open again as the butler announced the final member of their party.

"Sir Richard Carlisle, my lady."

* * *

Mary discreetly swallowed a long sip of her wine as she observed at Matthew seated across from her at the table before hazarding a glance at her dinner companion. His icy blue eyes were trained on her face, their corners crinkling as he grinned at her carefully hidden discomfort.

Nothing escaped Sir Richard's notice. She'd known him long enough before turning down his proposal to have deciphered as much. He was attractive enough and obviously intelligent, but there had always been something unnameable about him that made her uneasy. As things now stood, she had two very tangible reasons to be uncomfortable in his presence. Being seated at the dinner table next to a man who's proposal she had once refused was one thing; being seated next to a man who had published her scandalous tale in the gossip section of his newspaper was another.

"Allow me to offer my belated congratulations on your marriage," Sir Richard spoke as he brought his own glass to his lips. "I saw the article in the Times last autumn. You must be very happy to have secured yourself a permanent place in Downton Abbey's hallowed halls."

Mary, detecting the veiled barb behind his smooth words, arched one eloquent brow and kept her eyes firmly on her place-setting. "Thank you, Sir Richard. I can assure you, I am very happy in my marriage to Matthew."

"Indeed, marriage seems to agree with you," her companion responded, his voice lowering slightly. "You're looking very well."

Thinking that they had done with the topic, Mary nodded in acknowledgement of his compliment and returned her attention to her soup.

She wasn't to be so lucky.

"How fortuitous for you that Mr. Crawley just happened to be suddenly available. Such unexpected good fortune for you both."

Mary cringed at the sarcasm behind his overly honeyed tone. She glanced up at Matthew, who, thankfully, seemed to be enjoying an easy conversation with Miss Rochester. Despite some initial awkwardness, one of Matthew's disarming smiles had put the younger woman at ease, allowing them to converse semi-comfortably throughout the first course. Mary was glad of this small victory, at least.

Turning to look Sir Richard boldly in the eye, she responded simply, "Yes, we've both been very fortunate."

* * *

Matthew squirmed impatiently in his seat, tumbler of brandy untouched on the table in front of him, as he waited for Sir Richard and Lord Bromley to finish theirs so he could locate his wife. He was terribly worried. When the footmen had entered to serve the fish course, she had grown alarmingly pale and excused herself shortly after. She never returned to the dining room, but his mother and her aunt, who had volunteered to check on her, had assured him that there was nothing about which to fret. After making the announcement, Isobel had again excused herself to rejoin Mary, leaving him feeling dreadfully alone and at the mercy of the table's unfamiliar occupants.

"Relax, young man," Lord Bromley admonished him teasingly. "My wife had these kinds of spells. It's perfectly normal."

Matthew's brow wrinkled at the idea that sudden bouts of illness were somehow normal for anyone, and Sir Richard didn't fail to take notice. He eyed the younger man appraisingly as he took a long drag from his cigar. There was a story here. He could smell it.

"I understand congratulations are in order," he spoke slyly, leaning back casually in his chair.

"Uh...thank you, Sir Richard," Matthew responded haltingly. "I am very fortunate in my marriage."

Lord Bromley raised his glass in a silent toast, and Richard's eyes narrowed. It was just as he'd suspected. Lady Mary hadn't told her ailing husband anything. She was still hiding, still covering up her shameful secrets.

"Let's rejoin the ladies, shall we?" Lord Bromley at last announced as he rose and put out his smoldering cigar. Sir Richard did the same, his eyes fixed amusedly on Matthew as he struggled to rise without groaning.

"Allow me, Mr. Crawyley," he whispered close to Matthew's ear as he offered his hand in assistance.

"Thank you," Matthew responded uncertainly, hesitating for a moment as he absorbed the blow to his ego and forced himself to accept sir Richard's cold hand, despite his misgivings about the spirit in which it was offered.

The walk to the drawing room seemed interminable. Matthew's eyes immediately zeroed in on Mary as he entered. She was seated calmly between his mother and Lady Bramley on the sofa, sipping delicately on a cup of tea. He walked over to her as quickly as he could, which wasn't very quickly at all, addressing her in a concerned tone as he leaned heavily on his stick.

"Darling, are you alright?"

"Perfectly," Mary answered, the picture of calm and health. He stood and looked down at her for a moment, studying her features for any trace of the sudden illness that had befallen her at dinner, but finding none. On the contrary, her face was lit by a subtle smile, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. He glanced at his mother to find her similarly serene, chatting amiably with Lady Bromley who, to his surprise, glanced up at him with a knowing grin that made him a little uneasy, as he couldn't possibly begin to decipher its meaning. It was especially odd considering the same lady had studiously avoided meeting his eye across the dinner table not half an hour ago.

"Why don't you go and sit down, dear," Isobel suggested solicitously, but Matthew read it as the dismissal it was. He was, apparently, intruding on a private conversation.

"Yes, darling, you mustn't strain yourself," Mary reinforced gently.

"Well...if you're sure you're alright..."

"When am I ever unsure, darling?" Mary answered cryptically before turning her attention back to the conversation going on around her.

With a deep sigh, Matthew turned and surveyed the room for a comfortable place in which to ensconce himself. The settee near the window looked promising enough and would at least afford him a view of the gas-lit street to help pass the time. He picked his way over to it before carefully lowering himself, biting his lip lest any uncouth vocalization should escape and longing for home where he could moan and groan to his heart's content.

Glancing back at the party assembled around the sofa, he noticed Sir Richard and Rosamund standing close together, clearly having abandoned the group conversation in favor of a private tête-à-tête. Lord Bromley, who had seated himself on the other side of his wife, appeared ready to nod off at any moment. Matthew was sure he wouldn't be far behind. Ordinarily, he would already have been in bed by this hour, and he was beginning to feel the affects of his late night. He turned to look out the window at the darkened street, watching as the shadows on the sidewalk danced in the flickering lamplight.

"Mind if I join you?"

Matthew started a little at the unexpected address and turned to see Sir Richard standing over him, that same patronizing grin creasing his face.

"Not at all," he responded, shifting as best he could to make room for Sir Richard beside him on the settee. For a long moment, there was silence as each man seemed to take stock of the other.

"So," Matthew began awkwardly, grasping about for a neutral topic to fill the time, "how long have you known my wife's aunt?"

"Ros? Ours is a long-standing friendship of...mutual advantage," Sir Richard answered, his voice lowering suggestively as his eyes moved to glance back at the lady in question before alighting on another subject. "It was she who introduced me to your lovely wife several summers ago."

"Oh?" Matthew replied flippantly.

"Why, yes. Lady Mary and I became...rather close for a time. She's a delightful woman. That house party would have been a dreadful bore without her company." Sir Richard paused, his eyes lingering on Mary's form in a way that made Matthew's hackles rise. "You are to be congratulated on having won her."

"She's never mentioned it," he responded, perhaps a little too forcefully.

"I'm not surprised," Richard responded smoothly. "Lady Mary always did have her little secrets. As a man who's livelihood is finding and selling information, I certainly couldn't turn down the opportunity to discover one of them when it presented itself."

Sir Richard paused, watching Matthew's face intently as he absorbed this sudden turn in the conversation.

"But, of course," Richard continued, "everything worked out for the best, did it not? You were there, her knight in shining armor, to cushion the fall."

"You own The Daily Mail." Matthew spat the words out like an accusation as the memory of lying in a hospital bed holding the very same paper's gossip page in his trembling hands came rushing back with surprising clarity. He'd known Sir Richard was in the newspaper business, but had never heard anyone mention which paper he was affiliated with.

"Guilty as charged," Richard answered cooly, leaning back in the settee and crossing his legs, completely unconcerned by Matthew's rising temper.

"I must say, I'm astonished Lady Rosamund continues to associate with you after you so publicly shamed her niece. If you were any kind of gentleman, you..."

"But I'm not a gentleman," Richard interrupted. "Never claimed to be. It was nothing personal, Mr. Crawley. Just business. Lady Rosamund understands that. She also understands that my slipping Lady Mary's juicy little story into the gossip columns, where few details were provided and it would easily by dismissed by some and soon forgotten by most, was a great kindness. My informant presented me with enough scandalous detail for a full exposé"

Matthew seethed in silence, his jaw clenched tight as he focused his gaze unwaveringly in front of him.

"In some ways, Mr. Crawley," Sir Richard continued, leaning slightly closer to Matthew, his voice lowering to a breathy whisper, "I know your wife better than you do."

"How dare you," Matthew sneered, turning to glare angrily at his unwelcome companion.

"I see Lady Mary's still keeping secrets from you," Richard drawled. "She's an intelligent woman. With a husband to hide behind, even the truth of her indiscretions would no longer be worth even three lines in the gossip pages. And what luck that you should make a miraculous recovery just in time to cover her latest mishap."

"What are you insinuating?" Matthew sneered.

There was a pregnant pause as the two men sized each other up, one with an angry scowl, the other with a deceptively placid smile.

"Nothing, Mr. Crawley," Sir Richard answered at last. "Except, perhaps, that you don't know your wife as well as you may think."

"You know nothing about us," Matthew shot back, his gaze moving past Sir Richard's infuriating smirk to rest on Mary's seated form. Her eyes briefly met his as she glanced worriedly at the two gentleman, but her attention was soon demanded by the conversation she'd been having with Lady Bromley and Miss Rochester.

"You'll see that I'm right, in time. Perhaps sooner than you think. She won't be able to hide for long. Forgive me if I seem forward, but everyone knows what your limitations are."

"Take it back," Matthew demanded, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.

"And what if I don't?" Sir Richard responded, his high forehead creasing as he arched one silver-flecked brow.

"Then I _will_ defend my wife's honor. And my own."

Sir Richard responded with a deep chuckle. The sound sent white-hot anger coursing through Matthew's veins, and, for a moment, the ache in his back was forgotten. He felt heat rise in his face as he glanced down at the carpet, willing himself to remain in control.

"What honor, Mr. Crawley?" Sir Richard laughed. "You and I both know..."

Sir Richard's gibe was cut short by a resounding smack as Matthew's fist connected with his jaw.

A collective gasp filled the room as the rest of the party watched, shocked and scandalized, as Matthew and Sir Richard tumbled to the floor in a tangle of flying fists and flailing limbs.

* * *

Mary sighed deeply as she closed their bedroom door behind the doctor, taking a moment to steady her nerves before turning to face her bed-ridden husband.

"Matthew Crawley, I should wring your neck!"

"Really, Mary, Sir Richard had it coming..."

"Knowing Sir Richard, I'm sure he did," she responded angrily, "but you didn't have to make a scene in my aunt's drawing room, not to mention, you've injured your back. And after you were doing so much better!"

"The doctor said no permanent damage was done. Two days in bed will put me to rights."

Mary exhaled heavily, touching her gloved hand to her forehead in defeat.

"I still think it was worth it," Matthew muttered petulantly, crossing his arms over his pajama-clad chest.

Mary breathed a little exasperated half-laugh before shaking her head and moving across the room to her vanity where she started removing her accessories. There were several moments of silence, punctuated only by little metallic clanks as each one of Mary's hair pins was dropped into her jewelry box.

"I can only imagine what he must have said to get you so worked up," she mused, breaking the silence.

Matthew groaned, realizing with the clarity of hindsight just how foolishly he'd behaved. "He baited me with some nonsense about you keeping secrets. Now I can see that he was purposely trying to upset me. But I can't, for the life of me, understand why. I suppose it's possible he once carried a torch for you, but..." His voice trailed off into a weary sigh, and he shook his head slightly on the pillow, trying to puzzle out Sir Richard's strange insinuations.

Mary glanced up at his reflection in the mirror, watching him silently for a moment before rising to change into her nightgown. As she mechanically carried out her task, she thought back over the exhausting evening. The shock when she'd seen Sir Richard for the first time since refusing him; the strain of having to make conversation with him at dinner; her embarrassing bout of illness. And, perhaps most trying of all, having to smile and sit calmly listening to Lady Bromley's endless list of qualifications for a desirable nanny while Matthew sat locked in private conversation with her former suitor.

"He once proposed to me," she announced nonchalantly as she smoothed the silk of her nightgown over her flat abdomen, her hands lingering there only a moment longer than usual.

"He...what? When?"

"The same weekend you first met him at Downton."

Matthew was quiet for a long moment as this new piece of information sank in.

"You refused him?" he asked as Mary slid into bed beside him.

"Obviously," came her curt reply.

For a long moment, only the rustle of the sheets was heard as Mary made herself comfortable, propped up against the pillows. It was Matthew who broke the silence.

"Why?"

Mary's eyebrows pulled together. "Why what?"

"Why did you refuse him?" Matthew repeated, suddenly wishing he'd hit Sir Richard even harder.

Mary rolled her eyes and smiled, the deep-seated joy welling up inside her heart finally winning out over the stress of the eventful evening. Determined to move the conversation on to happier topics, she leaned over Matthew, smiling impishly down at him.

"Why do you think?" she purred, cocking one perfect brow before lowering herself carefully next to him for a soft kiss.

Matthew hummed against her lips, surprised by the sudden shift in the atmosphere between them. It seemed that Mary was finished with the topic of her former suitor, but unanswered questions still prodded Matthew's inquisitive mind. Breaking away from the soft kiss, he mused, "So that must be the secret Sir Richard said you were keeping from me - his proposal."

Mary pulled away slightly, her ears growing hot as she realized the moment had arrived. She mentally damned Sir Richard for forcing her hand and tainting what should have been a perfect moment between them after all they had been through to get here. For a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the pensive set of Matthew's brow as she brushed his hair gently aside.

"But a marriage proposal is hardly scandalous," he eventually spoke. "He seemed to imply...Well, he inferred...I won't even say aloud what he inferred."

Mary's smile grew wider. It was all terribly funny, really. Or perhaps she was simply exhausted and overwrought. She was terribly upset with her aunt for inviting Sir Richard without telling her and with Sir Richard for...well, for being Sir Richard. But she was too tired to think about it any more tonight. This should be a joyful moment. Sir Richard had no place in it.

"I do have a secret," she began slyly, gazing at him from under slightly lowered lashes.

"Oh?" Matthew responded, though his mind remained otherwise engaged.

"Well, not much of a secret anymore. Everyone at dinner figured it out but you, darling."

Matthew rolled his eyes but smiled slightly at her playfully scolding tone.

"Well, are you going to enlighten me?" he drawled, his fingers dancing lightly over the bare skin of her arm where it rested across his chest.

Mary's expression grew suddenly serious. "Well, darling, you see I'm...I'm pregnant."

A breathy, joyous laugh bubbled up inside her as Matthew's eyes grew wider than she'd ever seen them.

* * *

_So we finally have the big reveal! I'd love to know what you think. :) _

_This chapter was tough for me to write, mainly because there was so much Sir Dick involved. He's a tough one for me to write, so I hope I did ok with him. *fingers crossed* I wasn't intending for this to be an AU version of the fight scene, per se, but the canon fight scene clued me in that Matthew would be bold enough to punch Sir Dick if he touched the wrong nerve. _

_Thank you so much for reading! I plan to work on the next chapter of CTI next. :D_


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 6_

Mary sighed and stirred slightly, feeling warm and content nestled against Matthew's side. A tender smile appeared on her sleep-flushed face as she realized what had wakened her - her husband's large, warm hand gently caressing her abdomen. Without even opening her eyes, she slipped her own hand down to cover his, squeezing it gently as a delicious flood of joy washed over her, bathing her in a happy glow that warmed her from the inside out.

"Good morning, my darlings," Matthew whispered softly against her ear before pressing a kiss onto her hair. "I love you both so very dearly."

"Mmm," Mary hummed in sleepy contentment, her eyes fluttering drowsily open as she tilted her face up to reach his lips.

"It's such a miracle," Matthew whispered against her mouth before brushing a kiss on the side of her nose. His fingers moved under hers, stroking lightly over her flat belly again. "I mean...it would be a miracle even if it weren't for my injury," he continued falteringly, his brows drawing pensively together. "Just think, Mary, there's a brand new life growing inside you that our love created. Soon, there'll be another little person in this world, half me and half you. Isn't it incredible?"

Mary only hummed and nodded in response, her smile widening until her cheeks ached as she shifted to be as close to him as she possible could be, her arms tightening around his waist.

Matthew had been overjoyed at learning of his impending fatherhood, as she'd expected he would be. It was, after all, one of the first things he'd thought about after they'd realized he would recover. He'd been surprised at first, but had soon literally wept with joy. They'd lain awake for quite some time after that, holding each other and talking quietly about their future, which would now include a highly anticipated third party. Neither could fully grasp that it was all real, that their dreams were now becoming a reality. It was almost too wonderful to be true that they could be so abundantly blessed.

"Stay with me today," he whispered into her fragrant hair as he hugged her to his side, both hands now slipping around to encircle her waist.

"Darling, I really should go have a word with Aunt Rosamund about last night," Mary protested with a groan.

Matthew sighed in disappointment, but he knew it was useless to argue with her, as she was probably right. He would have gone himself had the doctor not advised him to remain in bed for the next few days.

"Alright," he conceded. "Do tell your aunt that I'm sorry about the vase. I didn't get a chance to apologize in all the hubbub last night."

"I will do no such thing. It's her own fault for inviting Sir Richard," Mary protested, her volume rising as her indignation from the previous evening began to reawaken.

"Why does she associate with the likes of him, anyway?" Matthew wondered aloud. "Knowing what he did to you...I just don't understand it."

Mary was quiet for a moment as she pondered the answer. "I think she's lonely," she finally answered, her voice softening as her anger momentarily receded. "And I think she's been in love with him for quite some time, years maybe. I half suspected as much when she first introduced him to me."

"Really?" Matthew's brow creased in surprise.

"Sometimes, love blinds us," Mary continued, "makes us forgive things we otherwise wouldn't. Helps us see only the best parts of a person."

For a moment, silence descended as Matthew lazily trailed his fingers up and down Mary's bare arm.

"Do you suppose Sir Richard has any good parts?" Matthew asked light-heartedly, effectively breaking the heavy mood.

Mary laughed softly and propped herself up on her elbow, gazing down at his playful grin.

"Obviously Aunt Rosamund thinks he has," she responded lightly, reaching up to smooth his sleep-mussed hair.

After a leisurely breakfast in bed with her husband, Mary dressed and mentally prepared herself for the necessary conversation with her aunt. Speaking with Matthew about the situation had softened Mary's anger somewhat. As long as she received a faithful promise that the incident would never be repeated, she was quite willing to forget about the whole thing.

* * *

Only half an hour after leaving the house, Mary returned, her lips pursed tightly together to conceal her roiling temper as she handed her hat and gloves to the butler. Once alone in the parlor with Isobel, however, she gave in and heaved a heavy groan of frustration as she paced the length of the small room, fists balled up tightly at her sides.

"I _cannot _believe it! The nerve of the both of them!"

"Good heavens." Isobel gazed concernedly up at Mary as she calmly poured their tea. "I take it your visit didn't go well."

Mary sighed and rolled her eyes, seating herself on the sofa across from her mother-in-law.

"How well could it possibly have gone when it began with me running into Sir Richard one his way out of my aunt's home...in his white-tie dinner attire!"

"You don't mean..."

"I'm afraid so." Mary took a steadying sip of her tea. "He had the nerve to inform me that my aunt was dressing and would be down in a few minutes."

Isobel's eyes were wide as saucers. "Oh, my," she breathed, sipping heavily on her own tea.

"At least Aunt Rosamund promised not to have Sir Richard to dinner when we're invited, but she won't stop seeing him."

"I wonder why they don't simply get married," Isobel mused aloud.

"That was my thought exactly," Mary explained. "Aunt Rosamund, it seems, enjoys her freedom too much to relinquish it."

Isobel shook her head in silent disapproval and thought of her dearly departed husband. Her own independence had come at far too high a price to ever be completely enjoyed, as she'd never desired it in the first place.

"And there's something else," Mary continued, breaking Isobel's dismal train of thought. "A while back, only a few months before the scandal broke...Sir Richard proposed marriage to me."

"Oh, my dear! I had no idea."

"I refused him, thank God. But if I hadn't...Can you imagine, my husband and my aunt carrying on an affair behind my back! One that started months before she even introduced us!"

"Sounds like you made a wise choice, my dear," Isobel spoke, her surprise evident on her face.

"Quite," Mary replied sarcastically, eyebrows rising and lowering dramatically. At least, she thought, she could take some consolation in the fact that Sir Richard's jaw had been visibly bruised.

Both ladies sat pensively for a brief moment until Isobel changed the subject.

"Lavinia telephoned while you were out," she announced with a smile.

"Oh?"

"We're invited to afternoon tea at her home tomorrow."

"Only one more week until the wedding," Mary observed fondly, her own features softening into a small grin.

"And to think, dear Lavinia has no mother and no aunts or older cousins to help her prepare. Perhaps we can be of some use to her."

Mary nodded her enthusiastic agreement. Even though reluctantly given, her own mother's help had proven invaluable in arranging her own wedding. She couldn't imagine taking on such a project alone.

"They're having the ceremony in the garden at the Savoy and the breakfast in one of the formal rooms afterwards. I understand the guest list is small, so things have been kept relatively simple. Then, of course, there's the ball the night before at the Swire's home. It is rather a lot for one person to handle."

"And, of course," Isobel interjected, "a young bride likes to have an older, more experienced woman to offer advice and answer any questions before the wedding. There's so much that can come as quite a shock if one doesn't know what to expect."

Mary's eyebrows raised slightly as she caught what Isobel was insinuating. For the first time, it occurred to her that she'd never had..._those_ things explained to her. She'd had to learn by experience, unfortunately, and, yes, it had been somewhat of a shock. But Lavinia would be learning with a man who loved her as she did him. Surely that would make it all so much easier.

Both ladies soon exited the parlor to check on Matthew, who was frightfully board and more than happy of the company. Mary and Isobel seemed to have formed an unspoken agreement not to mention Sir Richard's presence at Rosamund's home that morning to Matthew. There were some things that just didn't bear repeating more than once, and he was quite happy to accept Mary's assurances that they would be able to dine with her aunt again without fear of another run-in. After that, the topic changed to their tea at Lavinia's the next day.

"I'd like to do some shopping for the baby afterwards," Mary announced proudly. "I know it's early, but I think it would be best to do what I can now before I grow as large as a house."

Matthew's smile faded into a concerned frown. "Darling, are you sure? With the influenza spreading like it is, perhaps you'd better stick close to home."

"Don't worry, Matthew. We'll only visit two or three places," Mary reassured him flippantly before turning to Isobel as another thought suddenly occurred to her. "Oh, and perhaps I ought to order a few loose-fitting dresses now while I'm already in London. That way, I won't have to make a special trip when I need them."

"Not a bad idea," Isobel answered with a smile, pleased to be included in her daughter-in-law's shopping plans.

Matthew only sighed and fretted silently about his wife's health. He briefly considered exercising his rarely used husbandly prerogative and ordering her to return straight home and remain there until the danger of contagion had passed, but he doubted she would listen, especially with his mother supporting her.

"Mother, I'm trusting you to judge whether or not such activities are safe for Mary in her condition," he grumbled.

"Of course, dear," Isobel consented just to placate him. Mary rolled her eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time that morning.

* * *

Mary was pleasantly surprised to find that Lavinia and her father resided in a very lovely home in a fashionable neighborhood. Reggie Swire was apparently far more successful that she'd ever realized.

"Mary! Isobel! I'm so glad you've come." Lavinia's smiling face greeted them as soon as they stepped into the sunny parlor.

A fond smile lit Mary's face as she looked around at the pretty, delicate furnishings and pale yellow wallpaper. This room had obviously been Lavinia's creation. It suited her perfectly. Though the house and its contents were obviously fine, there was a pervading sense of comfort and a lack of ostentation or pretension that mirrored perfectly the disposition of its mistress.

"Thank you for having us, dear," Isobel greeted the younger woman, squeezing her small hand affectionately.

"Your home is lovely," Mary commented as she accepted a seat on the plush settee. Lavinia busied herself with pouring their tea out into dainty china cups with an elegant floral design painted on them.

"Thank you," Lavinia answered, her face flushing prettily. "Father has allowed me to redecorate one room for my birthday each year since I turned seventeen. This parlor is my favorite besides my bedroom."

Mary was undeniably impressed, having never done anything more than rearrange furniture on her own. Her mind was suddenly filled with ideas for changes she'd like to make to her bedroom back at Downton once she and Matthew returned home. Lavinia's vibrant pastels were lovely, but she much preferred darker, richer tones herself. And then there was also the nursery...

Her hands moved instinctively to cradle her still-flat abdomen at the thought of her precious little secret. The action didn't go unnoticed by their attentive hostess.

"Mary...are you well?"

"Oh, perfectly," Mary answered, recovering quickly from her momentary lapse of attention.

"Mary, dear, perhaps now would be a good time to share your news," Isobel prompted with a proud smile.

Lavinia turned her wide-eyed gaze expectantly on Mary, literally sitting on the edge of her seat in anticipation.

"Well," Mary began, her cheeks heating slightly, "it seems that Matthew and I will be starting a family of our own come winter."

A delicate squeal of delight pierced the quiet of the parlor, and Mary soon found herself wrapped in her friend's affectionate embrace.

"Oh, Mary! Oh, how simply wonderful!"

Mary was surprised, when Lavinia released her, to see that her cheeks were damp with tears.

"Just think, Matthew will be a father so soon...and after all he's been through."

Mary's own vision began to cloud alarmingly, which she immediately attributed to her condition. She wasn't usually so sentimental - or at least she didn't usually show it.

"I'm truly overjoyed for the both of you. Really, I am." Lavinia dabbed at her eyes with a napkin from the tea tray as she composed herself.

"Thank you," Mary responded, touched more deeply than she trusted in her ability to express. "We couldn't be happier."

"I'm so glad." A pretty blush colored Lavinia's cheeks, and she dipped her head to look down at her hands where they twisted around the dampened napkin in her lap. "I hope to be so blessed myself before long." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Isobel saw this statement as the perfect opening to broach the topic she'd hoped to discuss with her young friend.

"Lavinia, my dear," she began, "I do hope I'm not presuming too much, but...have you had the opportunity to speak with another woman about what happens after you're married?"

"Heavens, Isobel." Mary felt her skin growing hot under her morning suit. "You'll have us calling for smelling salts."

If Mary had been able to bring herself to look at the girl beside her, she would have seen that she had begun to blush rather violently.

"Oh, you mean..." She shot Isobel a suggestive glance, at which the older woman nodded in response. "Well, no, I haven't spoken with another woman, but...Ben did explain most of it to me. And there were some...diagrams in one of his medical books."

If Mary wasn't blushing before, she certainly was now, and Mary Crawley didn't blush easily.

"It all sounded very scientific the way he explained it," Lavinia continued, avoiding her companions' eyes. "He spoke of it all as though it were a surgery he was preparing to perform. I must admit, if I didn't trust him so implicitly, I'd be terrified."

"Leave it to a man to find the worst possible way to go about it," Isobel, tutted disapprovingly as she moved to sit closer to the two young women. She leaned forward to take Lavinia's hand in both of hers, making sure she had the girl's attention. "My own wedding wasn't so very long ago that I don't remember what it was like to be a new bride," she continued. "The most important thing to remember is that, even though it all seems very new and foreign at first, it's the most natural thing in the world. You mustn't be afraid to let him know that you desire his attentions or to allow him to touch you and to touch him in return. Let your instincts guide you, and all will be well."

"Does it...hurt a great deal?" Lavinia asked timidly.

"I believe it's different for every woman, but you'll probably feel a sharp pinch at first. The best thing to do is simply relax and enjoy the delightful sensations that will shortly follow. Your body will heal over the next few days, and then it will be perfectly lovely for you."

A small, relieved smile softened the worried lines on Lavinia's forehead, and she relaxed slightly as she sipped her tea. After a moment, she turned towards Mary, who had been fixedly studying the design on her tea cup.

"Mary, have you any great married lady wisdom to share?" Lavinia asked with a slightly precocious grin.

Mary's tea cup rattled a little in its saucer as she placed it back on the table before clearing her throat anxiously. In her entire life, she couldn't remember participating in such an inappropriate conversation in the parlor in broad daylight. But, as her mind pieced together a quick summary of all she had learned in her sexual experience thus far, one thought stood out among the rest, and she found herself giving voice to it, in spite of the chastening voice of propriety in her head.

"I believe that love and trust in one's parter can make all the difference." She took a deep breath and touched her palm to her stomach, drawing strength from the knowledge of her child growing inside her as she fought to suppress unpleasant memories. "Having been on both sides of that coin, I can certainly attest to the fact."

A heavy silence descended, broken at last by Isobel who reached over to place one of her hands over Mary's. Lavinia did the same, and they formed something of a little circle, their hands linked between them.

"You're absolutely right, my dear," Isobel assured Mary, squeezing her fingers gently. "As women, knowing we're loved and cherished by our partners is the key to enjoying the experience. I'd say all three of us are very lucky to have found such fine men to entrust our most unguarded selves to."

Despite her embarrassment, Mary nodded slightly in agreement; Lavinia followed suit with a bit more enthusiasm.

"Thank you both so very much," she spoke sincerely. "You've truly put my mind at ease."

"I'm glad we could help," Isobel responded, and the discussion moved on to the more expected topics of arrangements for the wedding and subsequent honeymoon.

Later that night, Mary curled up next to Matthew, deliciously exhausted and sated, saying a silent prayer of gratitude that she hadn't found herself in a marriage devoid of love or respect. She hadn't really thought about it before the conversation that afternoon, but she was really very lucky that she was able to be her true self when intimate with Matthew, something she hadn't been comfortable exposing to Pamuk and, she was sure, she would never have been able to do with Sir Richard or any other man she'd briefly considered. And now she had a brand new life growing inside her as testament to their love. She didn't feel that she deserved her good fortune, but, in that moment, she couldn't possibly have felt more grateful.

On the upper floor, Isobel lay awake late into the night, memories of her own dear Reginald and of the love they'd shared filling her mind. Even after nearly a decade, she still missed him with an ache that was almost physical, but she took comfort in the thought of her dear son, the precious proof of the life she'd once had with her husband, sleeping somewhere beneath her in the arms of his loving wife. Reginald would have been so proud of him. Her Matthew had come so far, from country solicitor to brave soldier and leader, now a devoted husband and soon-to-be father to his own child.

Mary had been absolutely right, Isobel mused: Love certainly did make all the difference.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Penny for your thoughts? :)_


	7. Chapter 7

**_A/N:_**Sorry about the long wait for this chapter! Hopefully the length somewhat makes up for the wait. :)

As always, many thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter, and to Willa Dedalus for all her help and dedication.

* * *

_Chapter 7_

"I can't believe you're both going off and leaving me to fend for myself after those three wretchedly boring days I spent in bed. Now I shall simply be bored _out_ of bed."

Mary and Isobel exchanged a look at Matthew's exaggerated whining, knowing very well from his good-natured smile that he didn't fully mean it. He was happy to be out of bed again, whatever the circumstances, and more than pleased that his wife and mother were leaving him to be of assistance to his dear friend. Lavinia had invited both of them to accompany her to her final gown fitting before the wedding, and both ladies had readily accepted.

Unbeknownst to Matthew, Mary had already made plans for how his time would be spent while she and Isobel were out with Lavinia. He'd hardly had any male companionship since leaving Downton, and she thought it time she rectified that situation.

So, Matthew was the only one surprised to see Ben enter the parlor behind a happily glowing Lavinia.

Warm greetings were exchanged all around, beginning with Lavinia's insistence that Matthew needn't rise to greet her. Instead, she quickly seated herself beside him on the settee, leaning to brush a quick kiss on his cheek before rising the greet Mary and Isobel.

"Thank you both so much for agreeing to come," she twittered excitedly, glancing back at Matthew, who smiled indulgently at her obvious bridal jitters.

"Thank you for inviting us," Mary answered kindly, gently touching Lavinia's elbow in a gesture of support and friendship. Matthew's gaze drifted from his friend's face to his wife's, his smile widening as he admired the lovely picture she presented in her pale blue dress, one small curl escaping her ebony chignon to caress the soft skin at the nape of her elegant neck. He sighed, feeling besotted as always when it came to Mary, and thought of the precious gift of his child growing inside her.

Mary's attention was drawn next to their other guest, whom she greeted with a welcoming smile. Remembering himself, Matthew held out his hand in Ben's direction. The other man accepted it, shaking it with a respectably firm grip.

"I hope you'll excuse my rudeness." Matthew gestured to the settee on which he was seated. "Bad back, and all."

"You mustn't apologize, Captain Crawley," Ben was quick to reassure him. "Your health must come before convention. I would advise my own patients to do the same."

Grateful for Ben's understanding, Matthew nodded and asked solicitously about his plans for the morning.

"Actually," Mary spoke up before Ben could answer, "I invited him here to keep you company while we were out, darling. I'm sure the two of you can find something with which to occupy yourselves."

Matthew's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Well...that's...very thoughtful of you, darling. Dr. Whitman, you're most welcome."

"Oh, I'm _so_ eager for the two of you to become better aquatinted," Lavinia enthused, wrapping her gloved hands around her fiancé's arm. "It would mean the world to me if the two of you became friends."

"I'm sure we will, dearest," Ben assured her gently, covering her tiny hands with one of his. Boldly, he leaned down to press a kiss to her blushing cheek before turning to smile down at Matthew again, his expression open but smug. Matthew only grinned delightedly, happy to see the obvious affection between his friend and her intended. Mary quirked an eyebrow at the gesture, which, to her, had looked a little possessive.

"Well, we'll run along now and leave you two boys to entertain yourselves." Mary stooped to allow Matthew to kiss her cheek goodbye before straightening. Her hands went without conscious thought to cradle her flat belly, a gesture that made Matthew positively glow with pride and happiness. He gently touched his fingers to hers as he wished the ladies a pleasant outing. Lavinia and Ben watched the tender scene keenly, their expressions an odd mix of embarrassment and envy.

The first several minutes after the ladies departed were slightly awkward for the two gentlemen. Matthew was grateful that Mary had thought to ask Phillips to send them some tea before she left, otherwise he would have been placed in the awkward position of asking Ben to ring for him.

"So," Matthew began, breaking the silence, "I'm sure you must be anxious for your wedding day to arrive."

Ben nodded, a smile that could almost be called wistful tugging at his mouth. "Of course. Lavinia, she's...well, she's the light of my life."

Ben's tone had grown so heavy that Matthew couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern. He wondered if, perhaps, something was troubling his pensive companion, but didn't feel it his place to inquire. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he said, "And Mary is the light of mine. We're both extremely lucky."

Ben hummed his agreement around a sip of tea, and, for a long moment, there was only silence.

"So, I um..." Ben spoke haltingly, pausing to clear his throat. "I understand you were injured at Amiens. Spinal contusion."

"Uh...yes," Matthew answered, nodding self-consciously.

"Lavinia told me," Ben explained simply. "Sorry, I can't seem to stop being a doctor even to pay a social call."

"That's quite alright," Matthew responded with a smile.

"I know it may not seem like it now, but you're one of the lucky ones. Damn, you don't know how lucky."

"Of course I know how lucky I am - how undeservedly so." Matthew looked down at the carpet at his feet, a dark cloud settling over his mind. "It still keeps me awake at night."

"Do you ever blink and...find yourself back there?"

"More often than anyone knows," Matthew answered somberly.

"It's funny," Ben continued, his tone bitter, "I was never shot at, nor did I ever shoot anyone. Hell, I don't think I ever even saw a German uniform." There was a pause as he knocked back the rest of his tea. Matthew sat quietly, brows knitted tightly together, as he watched Lavinia's fiance struggle with his memories. "But the things I saw...You ever see a field hospital? I can't even begin to tell you how much fucked up shit I saw in that God-forsaken place."

"No, I...I never saw one."

"Forgive my language," Ben apologized lamely. "I've never spoken to anyone about this before."

Matthew shook his head sadly. "Don't apologize. You've not offended me. I spent my fair share of time in the trenches, remember? It'll take a lot more than that to shock me."

"After four years up to my elbows in blood and excrement, I doubt I'll ever be shocked again."

Matthew winced as he considered the difference in their experiences. In many ways, his contribution to the war effort had been easier than Ben's had. On the front lines, he'd been largely sheltered from the carnage left behind after a battle, always on the move, looking forward to the next maneuver rather than backward. But Ben had seen only the gruesome price paid for every inch of ground he'd helped to capture - things Matthew himself had only heard about. If their roles had been reversed, he wasn't at all sure he could have managed.

"I believe this conversation calls for something a bit more fortifying than tea," he announced suddenly, leaning forward with a pained groan to place his cup on the table. "And perhaps a game of chess might prove a sufficient distraction."

Ben's face lit up at the implied challenge in Matthew's expression.

"You're on, Captain."

Matthew smiled as the mood shifted into more comfortable territory, but the smile morphed into a pained grimace as he tried to rise. He glanced self-consciously at his companion, who had already risen to his feet without the slightest effort, and tried to rearrange his expression into some semblance of normality.

"There's no need to pretend around me, Captain." A warm hand stilled Matthew's strained movements, and his forced smile turned nostalgic at the repeated use of his once-familiar title. "Let me help you up. Doctor's orders." Without waiting for permission, Ben hooked his arms under Matthew's and, bending his knees, lifted him easily onto his feet with minimal effort on his part. Ben steadied him with one hand on his forearm while he reached for his stick with the other.

Matthew thanked him with genuine warmth before slowly leading the way to the library. It soon became apparent to him that Mary had very cleverly secured a nurse maid for him in her absence. When they arrived at their destination, Ben helped carefully lower him into his chair at the small table on which the chess set was set out before selecting a small cushion from the sofa to support his lower back.

"I hope you don't mind if I make myself at home," Ben said as he made his way over to the sideboard.

"Not at all, but I feel I must apologize for being such a poor host," Matthew answered. Ben only waved the apology off and proceeded to pour them two snifters of brandy.

"Mmm," he hummed enthusiastically as he sipped the warm, amber liquid. "This is good stuff. Your cousin has very fine taste." Matthew only smiled as his new friend rummaged briefly through the cabinet before asking, "Is it too early in the day for a cigar?"

"I won't tell if you won't," Matthew answered with a conspiratorial grin.

Once seated across from each other with drinks and cigars in hand, the two gentlemen began their game. After several minutes spent in mostly silent competition, Matthew looked up from making his move to find Ben eyeing him contemplatively, his cigar poised above his mouth.

"Captain, there's something I want to know," he began, seeing Matthew's puzzled expression.

"Yes," Matthew responded, his brow creasing as he took another pull from his cigar.

"Do you still have feelings for Lavinia?"

Matthew was sure he couldn't have heard correctly. "Pardon?"

"Are there any unresolved feelings between yourself and my future wife?" Ben reiterated, his tone hardening.

Once recovered from the shock of so unexpected a question, Matthew answered, "None whatsoever. I can assure you, my heart belongs exclusively to my wife. Always has, really. Even when I was with Lavinia, I was in love with Mary."

"So Lavinia says," Ben conceded, looking down at the board. There was silence for several moments as he made his next move. "She speaks very highly of you, you know. A man could get jealous."

"She's been a good friend, both to myself and to Mary, but she and I were never in love. I assure you, there's no need to feel that way."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Ben shot back. "Perhaps you weren't in love with Lavinia, but it wasn't the same for her. The way she talks about you...She thinks you hung the moon."

Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his chair, lifting his brandy to his lips for a long, head-clearing drink.

"Like I said," he spoke after a moment, "she's been a good _friend_."

Feeling the other man's sharp eyes on him, Matthew looked down at the board, realizing he had Ben's queen in check.

* * *

The windows of the Swire's fashionable town home twinkled merrily in the fading light of dusk. Matthew's eyes were drawn to his wife's still form as she gazed out the car window while they waited their turn in the line of cars to exit, thinking with a swell of pride that she would surely outshine every other woman there, even the bride. The brief glimpse he'd gotten of her in that stunning bronze gown, its simple silhouette flowing so beautifully over her trim form, had left him momentarily speechless. He thought of the exposed skin of her shoulders and upper arms now concealed by her coat, the darling glimpse of ankle revealed by the modern cut of her dress, and couldn't resist reaching to take one of her hands in his. They were overlapped protectively over her flat tummy, subconsciously cradling their precious secret.

Mary smiled as he reached for her hand, warmth flooding her entire body from head to toe at the reminder of their great happiness. Her free hand continued to rest low on her belly as they approached the open front doors to the Swire residence, but she removed it before the driver opened the car door for her, not wishing to draw too much attention or invite speculation about her condition. So far, the only people who knew, besides herself and Matthew, were Isobel and Lavinia (and quite possibly Ben) as well as Aunt Rosimund (and others not worth mentioning), and she wanted to keep it that way until they could get home to tell the rest of the family themselves. Unlikely as it was that anyone in attendance at Lavinia's wedding ball would even know her parents to tell them anything, it wasn't impossible that someone might report any juicy suspicions to the gossip pages. Their run-in with Sir Richard had been risk enough. She wasn't about to take any more chances.

Patiently, she stood, tall and stately, on the curb as she waited for Matthew to be helped out by the driver - on the opposite side of the car where it would be less obvious to curious eyes. She smiled as he walked around the car, his posture straight and his stride confident despite his limp, the small setback from his tumble several days prior now only an unpleasant memory. He looked wonderfully handsome in his evening attire. Even his stick seemed to complete the look, polished to a brilliant shine that rivaled even the platinum cufflinks she'd bought him for his last birthday.

More than one curious onlooker stopped to admire the handsome couple, and, for once, their stares had nothing to do with the gentleman's handicap. They were striking together, so obvious happy and in love.

Matthew placed his free hand possessively on the small of Mary's back as soon as she'd removed her coat, noticing the interested glances several male guests threw her way. Mary had always been a stunning woman, but impending motherhood seemed to have given her an added glow that enhanced her already considerable beauty. He cursed the inconvenient disability that would keep him standing on the periphery of the room for most of the night, watching as other gentlemen led her out onto the floor to dance, the idea of sharing her, even briefly, with any other making his blood boil with jealousy.

His sour thoughts couldn't last long, however, as he was soon greeted by Lavinia's joyous smile. Stooping carefully to kiss her cheek, he glanced briefly over her petite form draped in voluminous layers of frothy white ruffles, strawberry curls artfully arranged high on her head. She looked like a fairy princess.

"You look splendid, Lavinia. Just lovely," Mary complimented her genially.

"I couldn't agree more," Matthew concurred. As soon as the words left his mouth, his smile faded as his eyes darted over to meet Ben's gaze. In light of their conversation the last time they'd seen one another, he thought perhaps he might ought to have kept his mouth shut on the topic. Not that he blamed Ben in the slightest for being possessive. After all, he felt the same way about Mary.

"Dr. Whitman, congratulations," he spoke politely, extending his hand for the other man to shake.

Mary and Lavinia briefly exchanged a look at the gentlemen's chilly greeting, but quickly moved on as other guests were coming in behind them. Mary had suspected things hadn't gone as well between Matthew and Ben as she and Lavinia had hoped for, but Matthew assured her everything was fine and would say no more on the subject. She made a mental note to question him further at a later date. For tonight, she was resolved to enjoy herself.

"Matthew Crawley! My stars!" a warm male voice spoke, breaking Mary's reverie. "It is good to see you, dear boy."

"Reggie, it's been far too long." Matthew pumped the older gentleman's hand enthusiastically, a wide smile breaking over his face as he turned to her. "Mary, allow me to introduce an old friend, Reggie Swire. Reggie, this is my Mary."

The older man's eyes widened appreciatively as they turned in her direction, but, somehow, Matthew didn't seem to mind this time. His chest puffed up with pride as he watched his friend lift Mary's hand to his lips for an exaggerated kiss.

"You mean to tell me that this enchanting creature belongs to you?" Reggie drawled.

"I'm afraid it's actually the other way around," Mary teased prettily as Mr. Swire continued to hold her hand in both of his. She felt Matthew's fingers brush over the bare skin of her shoulder, raising gooseflesh all the way down her arm under her black silk gloves.

"Charming, simply charming," Mr. Swire chuckled, kissing her captive hand again. "Matthew, I do hope you won't mind if I steal her away from you for a dance at some point this evening. I don't partake of the exercise often, but for you, my dear," he turned to Mary, "I'll gladly make an exception."

"Only if you promise to behave yourself, Reggie," Matthew answered playfully.

"Oh, ho! My boy, you and I both know that such promises are seldom kept when a beautiful woman is involved."

Matthew only chuckled and reclaimed Mary's hand before taking their temporary leave of Mr. Swire and steering them towards the ball room.

"I like him," Mary stated simply as she looped her arm through Matthew's, patiently keeping step with his careful pace. She usually hated it when gentlemen flattered her overmuch, but Mr. Swire seemed truly harmless and genuine in his compliments, as if he wished only to make her smile or, perhaps, blush, without any overt leering hinting at an ulterior motive.

"I'm glad he didn't make you uncomfortable," Matthew responded gently. "Though we couldn't have seen each other more than a handful of times scattered over the years during the war, it always seems like the friendships I formed during that time are deeper somehow."

Mary nodded and squeezed his arm understandingly as they entered the ballroom. It was spacious and very prettily appointed, though not nearly as grand as the fine ballrooms Mary was used to being received in, or even the one she and Matthew currently slept in. Still, it was just as lovely in a simple, unfussy sort of way as the rest of the house was, and spoke to the prosperity and good taste of its owner.

As the evening progressed, Mary was soon, as Matthew had predicted, whisked away onto the dance floor by several gentlemen, though he could hardly begrudge her the amusement, as he knew she enjoyed dancing. He found suitable entertainment in conversing with the few other gentlemen either too old or similarly scarred by the war to dance, though most of them eventually made their way to the card room. He found himself lingering around the refreshment table, sipping several cups of punch as he admired his wife's graceful movements around the dance floor.

A bittersweet smile tugged at his mouth as Reggie Swire led her back to him after claiming his promised dance.

"She's a treasure, my friend." Reggie clapped Matthew on the back as he placed Mary's hand back in her husband's.

"That she is," Matthew agreed, beaming proudly down at Mary as he tugged her as close to his side as was proper in a crowded ballroom.

Once they were left alone, Matthew offered her his punch, watching in fascination as she lifted the small cup to her lips, touching them to the same place his had touched just moments before.

"I wish I could kiss you right now," he whispered, leaning close enough for his warm breath to caress the skin of her ear.

"I'm not sure how proper that would be in a ballroom, darling," she purred, looking up at him through lowered lashes. The first strains of the waltz filled the air around them, and something in her gaze shifted, her eyebrow lifting in that challenging, flirtatious manner he knew so well. "Dance with me instead?"

"Oh, Mary," he sighed. "You know I wish I could."

"Well, why can't you? You may not be exactly graceful, but, then again, neither were several other gentlemen I've danced with who hadn't your excuse."

"I'm just..." he stammered, hating to disappoint her, but feeling a bashful heat creep up his neck at the thought of dancing in front of so many people. "I'm not sure I could manage without my stick."

"I'll be your stick," Mary reassured him, tugging lightly on his arm. The excitement of the evening, the joy of her impending motherhood, and, quite possibly, the punch, had made her almost giddy, and the sparkle in her beautiful eyes as they entreated him was nearly impossible to resist. He glanced around quickly, grinning as his eyes lighted on the perfect spot.

"Very well. Come on."

"Where are we going? The dance floor's back that way," Mary asked breathlessly as he tugged her out into a secluded, shadowy alcove in the deserted hallway.

"Dancing with you," he answered coyly, leaning his stick against the wall so he could take Mary in his arms.

She went quite happily, purposefully sliding her gloved hand up the length of his arm, tantalizing him with the sensual touch. It was awkward at first, but Matthew soon found something of a rhythm with his small, shuffling steps. Mary didn't mind in the least that it wasn't perfect. She only reveled in the knowledge that this was their first real dance as a married couple. Oh, they'd tried before, but there hadn't been any music then, and they'd only been able to sway slowly in place. No, it wasn't perfect, but they were at a ball and moving enough to be truly called dancing. She felt his fingers flex low on her back, pulling her even closer, far more than was proper.

"Now that we're no longer in a crowded ballroom," Mary whispered softly, her dark gaze holding his, "I wouldn't object to a kiss. Unless, of course, the urge has passed."

"Believe me, my darling," Matthew nearly growled in response, "the urge to kiss you shall never pass, not as long as I have breath in my body."

So absorbed were they in each other at that moment, both started when a soft voice behind them spoke, "May I cut in?"

Blushing slightly at having been caught in such an unguarded moment, Mary stepped away from Matthew, turning to see Lavinia standing just behind them, her smile wistful and adoring as her gaze flitted back and forth between the two of them.

"Oh, of course," Mary answered quickly, thinking it terribly sweet that Matthew should get to dance with his dear friend and almost love at her wedding ball. It seemed perfectly fitting that it should be so.

"Lavinia, may I have this dance?" Matthew asked gallantly, offering his hand to draw her into his arms, carefully maintaining a much more proper distance than he had with Mary. "You'll have to forgive me," he spoke as they started to move. "I'm not the most graceful of partners at the moment."

"No, you're doing fine," Lavinia encouraged sweetly, smiling up at him as they fell into a comfortable rhythm.

Feeling that it would be perfectly alright, necessary even, to give them a moment to themselves, Mary quietly excused herself to fetch another cup of punch, slipping almost unnoticed back into the ballroom.

* * *

"Were you nervous the night before your wedding?" Lavinia asked as she looked up at Matthew, the shadowy hallway slowly spinning around them.

"Well, it was a bit different for me then, but...absolutely _awfully_."

Lavinia's tinkling laugh brought a fond smile to Matthew's face as he was briefly transported back to the first time he'd heard that laugh, so girlish and carefree. She'd made him smile when he'd needed to so very desperately, and, for that, he would always be grateful to her.

"You seem to be holding up pretty well," he observed, looking down into her wide-eyed gaze.

"Do I, really?" she responded breathily. "Your powers of observation haven't improved, I see."

Matthew smirked self-depreciatingly for a moment before his expression sobered. "Ben loves you very much, Lavinia."

She flushed prettily. "I know."

"I hope you know that, even though things didn't work out between us, I've always cared for you... always wanted you to be happy. It gives me great joy to know that you've found the right person to be happy with."

"I..." Lavinia faltered a bit before forging bravely on, "I could have been happy with you, even when you were...hurt. I'm sure of it..."

"Lavinia, my darling, I would only have broken your heart, because mine wasn't whole to give. I would always have loved Mary, and you would have come to hate me for it."

"Perhaps," she acquiesced with a small, sad smile. "Though it might have been the coward's way out, I now know that leaving when you sent me away was the right thing. I didn't know it at the time. I was just...scared and foolish. But, every time I see you and Mary together and see just...how fine, how _right_, you look together...I know things have turned out exactly how they ought to have done."

"If anyone was a coward back then, it was me," Matthew insisted. "But, you're right. Things have turned out for the best."

Lavinia's smile widened, but her eyes quickly filled with tears, which she hastily blinked away.

"Lavinia?" Matthew asked, concerned.

"Oh, don't mind me," she insisted with an overly bright smile. "Just wedding jitters, I suppose."

Matthew only nodded in response, and, for a moment, their dance continued in silence. As the final strains of the waltz reached their hiding spot, Lavinia pushed up on her toes and, before he could react, pressed her lips firmly to his, the hand that had rested on his shoulder slipping up to cup his cheek. Matthew's entire body tensed with shock, but before he could even form a coherent thought, Lavinia had pushed herself away from him with a little cry. He watched in open-mouthed astonishment as the voluminous white folds of her gown disappeared around the corner.

* * *

_"But, every time I see you and Mary together and see just...how fine, how right, you look together...I know things have turned out exactly how they ought to have done." _

_"If anyone was a coward back then, it was me..." _

Mary watched Ben as he watched Lavinia and Matthew, their hushed words just barely audible above the sounds of the ball. Softly, she touched her gloved hand to his arm, startling him a little as he turned to face her.

"Lady Mary," he greeted her in astonishment before glancing over his shoulder at the quietly conversing couple.

The look on the young man's face made Mary's heart melt a little; he seemed so lost. It was a look she understood, for, even then, even with a ring on her finger and a beautiful little secret growing inside her, Mary could still recall what it felt like to see Matthew walk into a room with another woman beside him.

"She loves you, Ben," Mary spoke gently. "A woman in love can easily recognize another." She smiled softly as Matthew's words from earlier that evening came back to her. "I think, sometimes, friendships forged during times of war can run a little deeper than ordinary friendships."

Ben nodded and forced a pleasant smile to appear, though Lavinia's words to Matthew continued to haunt him. He took a deep breath, determinately stopping himself from glancing over his shoulder again, and extended his hand to Mary.

"I don't believe you've granted me a dance yet tonight, Lady Mary."

"I would be honored," she answered politely.

She accepted his hand, and the two of them made their way back into the ballroom, leaving Matthew and Lavinia in privacy.

* * *

_****_**Thanks for reading! **

**Questions, comments, concerns? :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**_A/N:_** _Thank you all so much for waiting patiently for this chapter while I worked on CTI for a bit. And to everyone who left a review for the last chapter, thank you! Your support means more than you probably realize. Also, many, many thanks go out to Willa Dedalus for allowing me to fill her inbox with my many musings and for being a wonderful support. :)_

_Last time:_

_"Lavinia?" Matthew asked, concerned._

_"Oh, don't mind me," she insisted with an overly bright smile. "Just wedding jitters, I suppose."_

_Matthew only nodded in response, and, for a moment, their dance continued in silence. As the final strains of the waltz reached their hiding spot, Lavinia pushed up on her toes and, before he could react, pressed her lips firmly to his, the hand that had rested on his shoulder slipping up to cup his cheek. Matthew's entire body tensed with shock, but before he could even form a coherent thought, Lavinia had pushed herself away from him with a little cry. He watched in open-mouthed astonishment as the voluminous white folds of her gown disappeared around the corner. _

* * *

_Chapter 8_

Lavinia's wedding day dawned bright and unseasonably warm. The bride blushed prettily under her short veil as she made her way through the elegant reception room at the Savoy towards her groom who positively beamed at the sight of her, resplendent in her calf-length lace wedding dress, her small hands cradling a bouquet of pink roses.

Matthew tried his best to smile and appear perfectly at ease as the couple repeated their vows to one another, though he couldn't seem to keep last night's episode from replaying itself repeatedly in his mind. He could only hope that Lavinia hadn't meant it, that she truly loved Ben and looked forward to her life with him, rather than backward to what might have been. He didn't want to be the cause of Ben's unhappiness or Lavinia's discontent, and the thought troubled him greatly.

After the couple had been officially pronounced man and wife, an elegant breakfast was served, of which Mary partook heartily. She'd been a little queasy earlier that morning, but, now, she was positively ravenous. Once she had taken the edge off her hunger, her attention shifted to her husband, who seemed more interested in the champagne than the food. She felt a little nudge against her thigh and glanced down to where his hand was fisted in the ruffles of her tiered skirt, his thumb rubbing nervously over the smooth material.

"Darling, you're creasing my silk," she whispered as discreetly as possible behind her napkin before swatting his hand away.

"Oh, I'm...sorry," he stammered absently as he waved over a white-jacketed waiter holding a tray full of champagne flutes.

"Is your back bothering you?" Mary asked softly, her momentary pique receding with concern that her husband might be in pain.

"Not at all," he answered proudly, bringing the champagne to his lips for a long sip. "In fact..." he glanced around their table, and, seeing that nobody was paying them any mind, continued, "all this wedding business has got me thinking about honeymoons."

"Oh?" Mary arched one eyebrow delicately, her mind successfully distracted as need flared inside her. The doctor had warned her to expect an increase in her desire for Matthew as her hormones surged out of control with the coming changes in her body, and she had recently begun to experience this extraordinary phenomenon.

"Perhaps you'd like to reserve a room for the night after things wrap up here," Matthew continued, his voice low and smooth as the buttercream on the piece of cake she was currently savoring.

"But Lavinia and Ben should be leaving for Brighton any moment now," she responded. "It isn't even noon."

"We'll get a room for the rest of the afternoon, then." Matthew leered suggestively at her, and she smiled with feigned innocence around another bite of cake.

"The way you two carry on, anyone would think _you_ were the newlyweds."

Matthew at least had the grace to blush at Isobel's whispered observation; Mary only grinned and finished her cake.

* * *

Matthew and Mary stood arm in arm among the throng of cheering wedding guests as Lavinia said a brief, tearful goodbye to her father and disappeared into the car where Ben waited, ready to set off on their new life together. They watched as the couple disappeared around the corner before Matthew impatiently tugged on Mary's hand, leading her back inside and toward the reception desk. He felt giddy from the champagne and more than eager to lose himself completely in his wife's arms. Her love would wash away the worry and the guilt, would help him forget. At least for a while. They gave a smirking Isobel a brief list of items to have packed and sent to them before saying goodbye for the evening and heading to the lift. Matthew clutched the key in the hand not holding his stick, forcing himself to remain in control in front of the lift operator, but, as soon as the door to their suite was closed and locked behind them, his stick fell to the carpet with a soft thud and rolled into a corner. His hands, now free, found his wife's silk-clad waist and hip, bunching the soft material between them as he tried to discern the trim curves under the layers of fabric.

Mary leaned into him, offering her lips willingly to be kissed as her lace-covered hands slipped beneath the tails of his morning coat. She swallowed his aroused moan as she parted her lips against his, relishing the excitement of sneaking off like this, in broad daylight, at this beautiful hotel to make love like two eager newlyweds. But, of course, they still were, weren't they? She hoped that, even after twenty, thirty, years of marriage, they would still be newlyweds at heart.

"Mary," Matthew breathed against her lips as he walked carefully backwards, seating himself on the edge of the bed without breaking their embrace. Mary stepped between his knees and laced her fingers through his hair, taking his mouth even deeper as their new angle put her in control of the kiss. Matthew gasped as her tongue flicked over the sensitive roof of his mouth and tickled the inside of his lips. God, she was an incredible lover. She undid him.

Reluctantly releasing his mouth, Mary stood upright and seductively removed her gloves, tugging slowly on each fingertip as Matthew watched, nearly panting with need, until the diaphanous lace finally floated, unheeded, to the carpeted floor. Placing her now-bare hands on his shoulders, she lifted one foot and placed it on his thigh. She smiled wickedly at his aroused whimper.

"Help me with these, darling," she purred, leaning down to nibble gently on the shell of his ear.

"With pleasure," Matthew drawled in response, his hands moving over the slickness of her stockinged leg, hitching her skirt up over her thigh, before moving teasingly down again to the buckle of her white leather shoe. He flicked it open with eager fingers before slipping her shoe with almost reverent slowness from her small foot, the act so unexpectedly seductive that the need building between his thighs became almost unbearably painful.

"God, Mary," he hissed as her stockinged toes slid up the inseam of his trousers, teasing him lightly through the taut material. He was forced to close his eyes as she traced the outline of his arousal, up and then down again, the sight so tantalizingly erotic he feared an untimely end to their activities should she continue much longer. Trapping her wandering foot between his hands, he caressed it lightly before sliding it off of his thigh and onto the floor.

"Other one?" he breathed huskily, cupping his hands for her to place her other foot into. He made quick work of the second shoe, tossing it playfully behind him before caressing her foot and calf. Mary laughed softly as she leaned forward for another kiss, her lips and tongue lightly tasting him, drinking him in. Matthew's hands made their way under her skirt, slipping up her smooth thighs to grasp her hips before slipping around to the undersides of her thighs. Mary whimpered into his mouth at the sensual touch, and Matthew found himself suddenly unable to wait to feel all of her bare skin against his fingertips.

His hands moved out from under her skirt, sliding up her silk-clad sides and over her tender breasts before hooking under the neckline of her dress, tugging insistently. Alarmed, Mary pulled back from the kiss and swatted his hands away.

"Careful, darling. I'm rather fond of this dress," she scolded before turning to show him the row of pearl buttons down her back.

Matthew took in the sight of her alabaster skin against the pale pink silk and decided he shared her fondness for the demurely pretty frock. Now careful not to rend the precious material, he made quick work of the buttons, pushing it over her creamy shoulders once finished. Mary caught the loosened dress before it could drop to the floor and stepped carefully out of it.

"Where are you going?" Matthew protested as she moved out of his reach to drape the dress neatly over the back of a chair. Mary laughed and turned to see him quickly shrugging out of his tailcoat and tugging at his tie, which were both dropped haphazardly onto the carpet as his eyes stayed fixed on her form, now covered only by a thin slip and nearly sheer white stockings. She held his heated gaze as she pushed the straps of her slip over her shoulders, letting the flimsy garment fall, pooling around her feet.

Matthew groaned at the sight of her in only her silk drawers and garter belt, the skin of her upper body now completely bare in the dim light. So, so perfect.

"Damn, I'm lucky," he breathed as she moved back into the circle of his arms, her hands rising automatically to frame his face, fingers teasing around his ears, dipping slightly into his hairline. Leaning forward, Matthew traced tender kisses over the silken skin of her breasts, now slightly fuller, their dusky tips just a bit darker - the first physical signs of his child growing inside her. She gasped and tugged at his hair as his lips closed around one hardened peak, the sensation nearly painful in its intensity. But she couldn't possibly get enough.

"Please, more..." she gasped as his hands teased under the waistband of her knickers, hooking underneath to push them down her legs. Mary kicked the scrap of silk and lace away as Matthew's big, warm hand came to rest lightly over her lower belly, cupping the slight protrusion that seemed to have blossomed almost overnight. The difference was so slight only someone who knew her body as well as he did could have noticed, but he had spent months memorizing every precious line and curve of her form. Now, he had six more months ahead of him in which to catalogue each exciting change that would come as their child grew and grew before eventually joining them, and, then, tenderly, devotedly, he would start all over again.

Impatiently, Mary grasped his hand and slid it down until his fingers brushed over her intimate curls, expertly finding that certain spot that made her desperate for more of him. She bent one leg and rested it on his thigh, opening herself for more of his touch. His lips found their way back to her breast, and she keened, head falling back at the torturous pleasure of his touch.

"Matthew, now...now..._please_..."

He chuckled darkly at her helpless begging, pride swelling inside him at the idea that this incredibly desirable woman wanted him so desperately. And he was more than eager to give her what she desired. He was almost painfully hard, and her obvious excitement aroused him even further.

"Now...Hurry!" she demanded, pushing his braces over his shoulders as she slid into his lap, straddling him. Matthew tried to remove his cufflinks, but his fingers refused to cooperate. Her intimate fragrance filled his senses, numbing his mind and scrambling his thoughts.

Mary's fingers worked the buttons on his shirt with little more dexterity, but she managed to get them open and slipped her hands inside, finding the warmth of his sweat-dampened skin. She seized the hand that was still fumbling with his cufflink and placed it between her thighs again, commanding him with an inarticulate groan, now completely beyond words. Matthew readily obliged, stroking her in slow, rhythmic circles as she attacked the buttons of his trousers and underpants. Somehow, he managed to shimmy them over his hips without removing his hand from her body. Her needy sighs now filled the air around them constantly, growing more and more urgent with each stroke of his fingers.

"God, I'm so close," she sighed as she finally positioned herself over him, trapping his hand between their bodies as she pressed closer, closer, until he finally filled her completely. "Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhhh..." She sobbed against his neck as wave after wave of bliss washed over her, bathing her in a delicious lethargy as she sagged in his arms, too delightfully sated to move.

Matthew whimpered needfully as he felt her pulse around him, squeezing him hard as she peaked. His own need raged fiercely inside him, and he gripped her hips tightly, pulling her down onto him hard. She inhaled sharply, and he could tell her passion was rising again, though she was still nearly limp in his arms. With a desperate groan, he wound his arm under her bottom and stood, ignoring the ache in his back as he lifted her and turned, stumbling slightly as his trousers tangled around his legs, before depositing her carefully onto the bed. Her breasts bounced with the movement of the mattress, and it was all Matthew could do to hold himself back, to keep from spilling inside her then and there.

Mary looked up at him from under heavy lids, surprised, but more aroused than she could ever describe, by his unexpected move. They'd never made love like this before. It was exciting, thrilling, and completely new. She looked a little uncertain, concerned about his healing back, but obligingly wrapped her legs around his waist and lifted her hips to meet his thrusts, careful and tentative at first, but quickly growing in speed and intensity as he found his rhythm.

"God, Mary..." he gasped as he gripped her hips, pulling her hard against him. His back ached, but he didn't care. His legs grew increasingly weak and wobbly, but he wasn't entirely sure this couldn't be attributed to the powerful release building at his center. Mary cried out and trembled under him, sending him over the edge with her. He gasped out her name as he stumbled forward, catching himself with one hand on either side of her head, as he rode out each second of mind-numbing ecstasy before rolling to the side, collapsing on his back beside her, exhausted and blissfully sated.

Turning her head slowly to the side, Mary looked over at her husband's flushed face and wild hair and smiled, still feeling deliciously lethargic and sated. Her smile faded as he grimaced and shifted on the bed, obviously a little uncomfortable.

"You didn't hurt your back too badly, I hope," she chastised gently, arching an eyebrow at him.

"It's just a little sore is all," Matthew answered quickly, hating to ruin their passionate moment with his damned back again. "Besides, it was worth it," he added, facing her with a playful grin. "Did you like it?" he asked softly, his smile fading as that little nagging insecurity that still plagued him from his earliest days in his wheelchair once again reared its head.

"You mean you couldn't tell?" Mary teased, rolling onto her elbow so that she was leaning over him. "I loved it," she breathed, leaning down to brush a feathery kiss over his pouting mouth. His hands rose to reach for her, to draw her closer to him, but she quickly sat up, evading his grasp. The protest that had been forthcoming died on his lips as she bent over his feet and began removing his shoes. She placed each neatly on the floor beside the bed before tugging off his trousers and underpants, freeing him to make himself more comfortable.

Careful of his back, he shimmied between the smooth sheets. Propped comfortably against the headboard, he watched as Mary placed one foot on the edge of the bed and unhooked her stocking, rolling it slowly down her long, shapely leg. He wondered if she was purposefully taunting him, tempting him into a repeat performance that his body was already preparing to give. His eyes followed her now-bare leg as it was replaced by the other, and he couldn't help but recall how those very limps had been wrapped so tightly around his waist only minutes before...

Her nimble fingers unhooked her garter belt, and it fell to the floor, leaving her now completely bare, and so, so achingly beautiful.

"Come here," he whispered, holding out a hand to pull her to him as she slipped between the covers and into his arms. Their lips met, parting sweetly against each other, as Matthew lay back against the pillows, taking Mary with him as his hands found the smoothness of her bent legs hugged so tightly against his sides and slipped down to tickle the upturned soles of her feet. She squirmed and sighed into his mouth, deepening the kiss as their bodies found each other again, moving together slowly this time, savoring each second of absolute togetherness.

But, as they lay skin against skin in the sweat-dampened sheets afterwards, the excitement of the moment cooling into a comfortable lull, Mary's thoughts turned back to Matthew's earlier subdued behavior at the wedding. He'd very adeptly distracted her with his amorous attentions, but she knew him well enough to see that something had been eating at him. Not to mention, he'd barely spoken to Lavinia and Ben, offering a terse congratulation before turning his attention back to one of several glasses of champagne. Now that she thought of it, Lavinia had also seemed a little reserved around Matthew, which was completely out of the ordinary for the affectionate girl who, like Matthew, always seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve. With both of her hungers now sated (for the moment, at least), Mary was determined to get to the bottom of things.

"Turn over, darling," she commanded, pushing up onto her hands and knees over her husband's recumbent form.

"Hmm..." Matthew hummed drowsily at first before complying with her request eagerly, settling in with a sigh of contentment as Mary gently seated herself on his naked backside and began kneading his tense muscles with practiced hands.

"Just relax," Mary soothed as she focused her attention on his lower back where he carried the most tension.

Matthew inhaled deeply before releasing it in one long breath. He focused on each individual muscle group in turn, as his father's physiotherapy book had taught him, consciously relaxing that area before repeating the procedure with the next. The exercise relaxed his mind as well as his body, steering his thoughts away from the unwanted direction they now threatened to stray in.

His impulsive decision to steal Mary away for a passionate interlude had successfully distracted him for a time. She'd been so incredibly lovely in her blush-colored dress, the glow of her skin so radiant, pushing canape after canape between those tempting lips in the most adorable way, that he hadn't seen any other choice available to him but to act as he had. Beauty such as hers could only be appreciated in the most passionate of ways. But now, lying face down among the piles of pillows, he could no longer see Mary's face. He saw a different face now - one with reddened cheeks and watery blue eyes filled with sadness and regret. He could only hope that, now that she was married to Ben, Lavinia would realize she'd been wrong to regret what had passed between them and would, instead, look forward to the future with the man she had chosen. After all, there would be no point to do otherwise.

Having concluded her ministrations to his back, Mary draped herself over him, trapping him underneath her, and nuzzled his upturned cheek.

"You seemed distracted at the wedding this morning, Matthew. I thought so last night too, but assumed you were only tired after the ball. Is everything alright?"

Matthew felt his body tense at her question, and he forced himself to relax, though he was sure she'd already felt it. A part of him thought perhaps he should tell Mary about what Lavinia had said and...that she'd kissed him. But what would be the point, really? It was in the past, and he was sure Lavinia now realized how wrong she'd been and put him out of her mind for good. She must have done as soon as she'd seen the look in Ben's eyes when they first fell on her in her bridal gown. No, he decided, he wouldn't jeopardize things by speaking of something that truly was of no consequence. He was happy with Mary; Lavinia was now happily settled with Ben. Besides, Mary and Lavinia were friends, and he would hate to be the cause of destroying that unnecessarily. He would simply put it out of his mind as if it had never happened. Mary and Ben need never know. He could do that much for Lavinia, at least.

"It's nothing," he murmured softly, finding her hand that rested beside his on the pillow and bringing it to his lips. "I just...I realized you never had a proper wedding ball or honeymoon and felt badly about it. That's all."

"Oh, darling." Mary squeezed him as best she could with her arms and legs, burying her face in the curve of his neck. "You know I would rather have had you than either of those things."

"Even then?" Matthew asked shakily.

"Even then," Mary confirmed, pressing a tender kiss to the shell of his ear.

"Mary..." he breathed, unable to formulate any other response. He closed his eyes and soaked up the warmth and comfort of her body covering his so completely, pushing back the pang in his conscience that told him this incredible woman didn't deserve to be lied to. But he _had_ thought about those things, Matthew reminded himself, so it wasn't a total lie. And he had done it to spare Mary's feelings. It had been the right thing, the honorable thing, to do for both his wife and for Lavinia.

Mercifully, Mary's stomach chose that moment to renew its demands, distracting them both from the previous conversation.

"Do you think there's any cake left downstairs?" she asked with a soft laugh that ticked against his ear.

"I'll go and find out," Matthew offered, shunting her gently from his back and slipping out of bed to collect his discarded clothing.

As the door closed behind him, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, hating how grateful he had been for the small task that had allowed him to escape his wife's presence for a few minutes. Her love and trust burned into him like a smoldering iron, torturing a confession out of him that he was resolved not to give.

Perhaps there was also some leftover champagne. Or, with any luck, something stronger.

* * *

_A healthy does of smut, as requested. ;) But silly Matthew just can't see the forest for the trees. What's new, right? If you have a moment, I'd relish you thoughts. :)_


End file.
